


America's Next Top Chef

by emwebb17



Series: Win/Win Situation [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cooking Competition, F/M, M/M, Reality TV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 131,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emwebb17/pseuds/emwebb17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirteen of the best chefs in a Supernatural Alternate Reality vie for the title of America's Next Top Chef on national television.  Of course, the real drama takes place when the cameras aren't rolling.  Okay, the drama takes place on camera too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Preliminary Rounds

**Author's Note:**

> About the rating: it has been suggested that parts of this flirt with a Mature rating, but it's mostly due to coarse language and suggestive dialogue. There are a couple of times that the actions push the limits of what could be shown at a TV-14 rating, but quite frankly I'm more scared of the people who would get upset that there is no sex with a Mature rating than those who would be scandalized by the characters getting too frisky in a Teen rating. Consider this your warning. There are timestamps of certain scenes available in another work attached to this series--they are all explicit and contain nothing pertinent to the plot. You will not miss anything important if you don't read them.
> 
> I have done some research on Olivia Ryan Stern, the actress who plays Tracy Bell, and I honestly have no idea what her ethnicity might be, but in this fic, she is Latina. It's not my intention to offend anyone by mislabeling her.
> 
> Finally, this fic is told with the use of pictures. I've been told that ePub versions do not include the pictures, so it might behoove you to read it in a version that lets you see the pictures. My html formatting was thrown out by AO3 when it published, so I apologize for the pictures and dialogue not being more aesthetically pleasing. Also in regards to said pictures, an immeasurable amount of thanks to Kyrie101 for helping me find reaction shots for some of the actors that have hard to find pics!

 

 

  


"Okay, everybody, we're going to start the second round of twenty-five contestants in about ten minutes.  Do your final checks on your requested ingredients.  If something is missing or incorrect raise your hand—don't shout—and a staffer will be around shortly to help sort it out."

Dean looked down at his station: a brown paper package labeled chicken breast, one block each of pepper jack and provolone, arugula, tomatoes, onions, cilantro, chipotle chilies, one avocado, two limes, fresh parsley, cumin, chili powder, and his "secret ingredient," sourdough bread he'd made himself.  It was a bit of risk to use an ingredient he wouldn't have access to during the competition as no challenge would ever last long enough for him to bake bread, but of course if he didn't get into the competition in the first place the point would be moot.  It was a big enough risk as it was making a sandwich for his signature dish and his one and only opportunity to secure a place in the quarterfinals, but he knew his Tex-Mex Sandwich was melt in your mouth orgasmic.  He had this.  He totally had this.

Dean placed his hands on the wooden carving block on his station and exhaled slowly.  This had been Sam's idea.  Mostly.  People had been jokingly suggesting for years that he should compete in some sort of reality cooking show.  Ever since taking over the cooking responsibilities at the Roadhouse, Ellen's smalltime bar had inadvertently transformed into a bar/restaurant.  A couple of years ago they had expanded into the building next door and added more tables.  Suddenly Dean's temporary job until he could get back on his feet after being discharged from the Marines turned into a full on career as a chef.  It certainly was not where he ever envisioned his life heading, but he found that he was challenged by the work and never bored.  Heck, he might even go so far as to say he was happy with his life.  Sure the hours sucked and he had no social life to speak of—just a string of one night stands to give his hand a break every and now then—but for the first time in his life since his tours in Afghanistan, he felt proud of the work he was doing.

Sam was the one who brought the video camera into the kitchen at the Roadhouse one night, filming Dean's hectic night of filling made to order burgers and mixing up dipping sauces for his multitude of famous seasoned fries.  The video was filled with loud, raucous shouting between Dean and his line cooks and quite a few crude words that had to be edited out.

Dean had been surprised when he'd found out Sam had actually submitted the footage to the competition's audition process.  There had been speeches about dreams and goals and achieving his potential by doing something he really loved and was good at, but Dean didn't think he had the same drive as Sam.  His brother had spent his whole life aiming to be a lawyer.  After one semester in law school, he realized that wasn't what he wanted to do at all and dropped out to attend school to earn his Masters in education.  He was a high school English teacher now and spent all his time after school hours running the debate team and the forensic speaking club (whatever the hell that was) and helping out with the drama club.  His kids participated in national level competitions and often won.

Dean wasn't surprised that Sam could be successful at anything he set his mind to do, but he couldn't understand how he could be so sure of his life choices.  After all, he'd been so sure he wanted to be a lawyer—until he was sure that he didn't.  It was too hard for Dean to trust that his success in Ellen's business was anything more than luck.  After all, by serving food the bar was able to serve alcohol later at night—so it was entirely possible people were just choking down his food so that they could keep drinking.

Sam was often annoyed by Dean's constant self-effacing nature, which was why he'd taken it upon himself to submit his brother for consideration of not just any reality cooking competition, but the biggest, most popular show in the country.  Dean had laughed at the idea and mostly forgotten about it as weeks went by with no response.  Then just four short days ago he'd been asked to participate in the preliminary round for the show.  He and ninety-nine other people would cook one single dish that was uniquely their own and, of course, tasty enough to stand out as one of the best to a panel of judges consisting of professional and celebrity chefs.

Dean and Sam had had a pretty nasty knock down drag out fight for three days about whether or not Dean would actually participate.  The end result was Dean feeling utterly nauseated as he watched the camera crews running around the contestant tables trying to find the best angles and places to set up where they wouldn't collide with the chefs as they worked.

Dean looked up, scanning the bleachers set up on one side of the large, open hall the competition was being filmed in.  He couldn't find him, but he knew Sam was there wearing an embarrassing shirt with Dean's face on it and touting the Roadhouse.  Despite the fight being one of the worst they'd had in a while, they were fine.  They always were.  Being angry with his brother wasn't a state he could maintain for more than three or four days at a time.  And besides, who could be angry at an excited puppy fluffball bouncing around and giving him one of the worst pep speeches he'd ever heard in his life?  And that was coming from a place of hearing Marine drill sergeants' pep talks that ran along the lines of, "If you don't get your pathetic ass over that wall, we will all **know** you are a spineless worm instead of just the weak pansy we all **think** you are!"

"Okay, two minutes, people!" the producer yelled as she ran around the outside perimeter of the cooking stations, listening to someone talk in her earpiece and directing someone else through the walkie-talkie in her hand.

"So, are you ready for this?"

Dean looked to his left and saw a cutish guy with a light beard and distinct Jewish features smiling at him.

"What?" Dean asked.

The guy smiled.  "You ready?  For the competition?"

"Um.  No."

The guy laughed.  "I'm Aaron," he said.

"Dean," Dean replied automatically.

"Well, Dean, how about if we bomb this, we can drown our sorrows in each other?"

"I don't—uh..."  Dean blushed as Aaron's meaning suddenly clicked.  "What.  No.  Yes.  Why?  Um.  We can do that later?"

Aaron's smile faded.  "Oh, I was just kidding, man.  Chill."

"Oh.  Right!  Yeah, me too."

Aaron let out a small laugh and let his eyes roam over Dean's body for a moment.  "Unless you're not joking.  Then I don't have to be either."

Dean's cheeks burned hotter and he turned away and faced his station.  He did not need this right now.  Why was it he could be the smoothest motherfucker on the planet when it came to beautiful women, but a cute guy made him feel like a middle school loser?

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"  Dean snapped his head around to face Aaron, trying not to look as completely flustered as he felt.

"So, either way, celebratory or consolingly, we should hang out after."

Dean nodded and swallowed thickly, unable to answer.  Aaron smiled and nodded to himself as he looked down at his station.

"Ready, chefs?  Your time starts...now!"

A horn sounded, loud and echoing in the cavernous room and Dean jumped about a foot off the ground.  His heart was slamming in his chest and he glanced around in a panic, wondering what was going on.  Then he noticed everyone around him had started working on their dishes.  He stood, paralyzed for a moment, completely forgetting how to hold a knife let alone make neat, even cubes of onions and tomatoes for his pico de gallo.  Cold fear gripped him for just a moment—that old sense of being worthless and useless pervading his muscles and sapping his strength.  Then he looked at the ingredients in front of him.  His ingredients, his recipe.  He knew how to do this.  Dean set to work. 

 

 

 

***

"Hello!  I'm Bela Talbot.  For season nine of America's Next Top Chef we have scoured the country looking for the best and most creative up and coming chefs.  We had applicants from small towns and big cities, cooks at self owned diners and sous chefs of award winning chefs, students fresh out of culinary school and self taught experts with decades of experience under their belts.  We narrowed that down to one hundred of the most innovative and promising chefs and brought them all here to Miami to compete for a spot in the quarterfinals."

 

 

 

"The chefs will have forty-five minutes to make a signature dish of their choosing with no constraints on what they can make.  The dish is meant to represent who the contestant is as a chef and must be creative, aesthetic, and of course delicious.  In order to determine the crème de la crème, we have assembled the most talented and successful panel of judges for this season and let me tell you—they will not be easy to please this year!" 

 "Of course America's Next Top Chef wouldn't be possible without Naomi Milton, the self-proclaimed Queen of New American French Cuisine.  Her four restaurants are consistently ranked as among the best in the world and she has won more awards than almost chef alive today."

"Returning from last season we have celebrity chef and host of Food Network shows **Grilling with Gabriel** and **Sinful Sweets** , Gabriel Engel."

 "And new this year is a chef notorious for being a slave driver in the kitchen and voicing his displeasure quite colorfully, but his unique take of traditional dishes and expert use of gastronomy to constantly push the boundaries of the cooking world have made him the winner of a 2013 James Beard Award and a Trailblazing Chef Award.  It's Fergus Crowley!"

"Let's check in and see how our chefs are doing."

***

Dean waited at his station as the judges made their way through the other contestants.  He'd been placed in the middle, but towards the back, as his dish had been deemed one of the ones that could hold up the longest.  He disagreed as he had a grilled chicken breast that was currently cooling.  At least he had been allowed to hold off on assembling the sandwich until the judges were one contestant away.  He felt confident that he had prepared everything perfectly, but as the judges—people he'd seen on TV!—and the cameras got closer, his nerves returned and his stomach felt like worms were squirming around inside it.

He distracted himself as best he could by assembling two sandwiches and plating them as artistically as he knew how, which to be honest, was not much more than cutting it diagonally and laying one against the other.  He tried to artfully arrange the carrot chips he'd made—very thinly sliced carrot fried until crisp and lightly salted—but it just looked ridiculous so he gave up and dumped them on the plate.

Before he knew it a bright light was shining in his eyes as three judges, the host of the show, two camera operators, and a guy holding a large boom mike over his head crowded his space.

"Hello," Bela said in her clipped British accent.  Dean blinked as he looked at her.  She'd been the host of America's Next Top Chef since season two and Dean was quite familiar with her approach to being a foodie, which was wearing sexy, revealing outfits and licking her fingers after trying dishes she thought were particularly moan worthy.

"Can you tell us your name and what you've made for us?" Bela prompted.

"Oh, yeah.  Right."  Dean's eyes swept quickly over the judges.  Naomi stood with her arms crossed over her stomach and a pinched expression on her face.  Gabriel was standing on an apple box some poor PA was having to carry from station to station.  He was smirking, but still managed to look moderately friendly.  Crowley, because Dean just couldn't bring himself to call the man Fergus, had a shark smile on his face.  It was impossible to tell if he was friendly or dangerous.

"My name is Dean Winchester and I've prepared a sandwich I invented myself back at the restaurant I work at.  It's called Jo's Revenge, which makes sense if you knew Jo and how much she hates Tex-Mex food, but basically it could be called a...Tex-Mex sandwich."

"You've only got one opportunity to impress us," Naomi said evenly, "and you went with a sandwich?"

Dean swallowed.  "It's a really good sandwich.  There's chicken that has been seasoned with cumin, chili powder, a little fresh parsley and some lime.  The pico de gallo I made myself and it's served with two kinds of cheese and fresh made guacamole.  The secret part—uh, best ingredient—um, the best ingredient is the secret ingredient, um sort of.  It's the bread.  It's sourdough.  I made it."

Dean stopped babbling and stared forward.

"Dean."

Dean looked to his left and saw the producer standing behind the camera that was focusing on the judges' faces.

"That was great.  We're just going to go through it one more time.  And this time, look at the judges, not the camera."

Dean nodded, his mouth going dry.  He had to do this again?  He took in a deep breath and looked past the camera, which he now realized he had been staring at unblinking during his little brain fart.

"Okay, and whenever you're ready Dean, start from your name again."

Dean focused on the judges and tried again.  The second time around he was able to explain his dish in a more coherent and human manner.  This time the judges tasted his food.  Dean tried not to hold his breath as he watched them.  Gabriel was vocal right from the first bite, his eyes going wide and moaning around his large mouthful and trying to talk but unable to as he took a second bite.

Naomi quirked an eyebrow at her first bite.  Then smiled as she chewed.  After completely swallowing she didn't take a second bite but said, "I am very pleasantly surprised.  This has so much flavor.  The sourdough with the Mexican flavors is definitely something different, and I like it a lot."

"Now these," Crowley said, holding up the carrot chip, "are brilliant.  Wonderfully crisp and a nice blend of sweet and salty."

Dean managed to stammer out a thank you and then the judges and cameras and lights were gone.  He used a towel to mop the small tropical storm of sweat that was running down his face.  He couldn't believe how relieved and elated he was that the judges had liked his food.  Back at the Roadhouse he couldn't give two shits if a customer didn't like his cooking, so why did he care what these snobby chefs thought who used crap like snails and foam and foie gras in their cooking?

Regardless, he was just glad it was over.  Surely he'd be eliminated and then he could go home and not even worry about what these people thought about him or his food ever again.  After ten more minutes the judges had finished sampling the last of the contestants in the second round and they were mercifully released to the holding room.  They couldn't see their families and friends in the bleachers, but at least they would be able to sit down after hours of standing.

"So, how did the judging go?" Aaron asked as they filed through the door to the holding room that was plain, industrial, and full of uncomfortable folding chairs.

Dean shrugged.  "Okay.  It was positive.  I thought there'd be some criticism, but then again, it was also really fast so who knows if that's bad or good."

"Yeah, they spent all of twenty seconds tasting, then they smiled and nodded, and were pretty much gone.  Hey, you want a water?"

"Uh, yeah, thanks."

Dean watched Aaron walk over to the coolers that housed bottled water provided by one of the sponsors.  The next set of twenty-five contestants were herded out to the staging area to get one last brief of the rules and instructions while an impressively efficient team of assistants cleaned and reset the cooking stations.  The folding chairs had been arranged in half circles around the room and scattered around encouraging the contestants to sit together in small groups and gossip about the ones not in their groups.  There were a couple of cameras and microphones in the room, but for the most part they weren't being filmed.

Dean took a seat on the end of one semicircle and waved to Aaron when he started looking around the room, two waters in his hands.  Dean thanked him for the water when Aaron sat next to him and then gulped the whole thing down in one go.  He still felt like he had cotton in his mouth.

"God that was awful," Dean said.  "I can't imagine doing eleven weeks of this."

"Well, the good news is that the challenges are condensed, so even though it takes eleven weeks to air, I think it would only be like four or five weeks for us."

"That's still a long time."

"You got someone to get back home to?"  Aaron chuckled.  "Which I suppose is something I should have asked before flagrantly propositioning you."

Dean smiled and bit his lip gently, realized what he was doing and straightened up, clearing his throat.  "No, I don't have anyone.  At least not for more than a few hours at a time."

"Ah."

Dean discreetly rolled his eyes up into his head.  Why had he said that?

Conversation immediately died between them and Dean felt like an ass.  He picked at the label on his water bottle and tuned out all the other conversations going on around him.  Eventually Aaron excused himself and Dean didn't even try to offer up an apologetic smile.  This whole experience was humiliating.  After nearly two hours the room was informed that the third round of judging was almost over and the last group should get ready to leave the holding room.  Dean slumped down.  That meant it would be over two hours before the end of that round and they would finally be let out of this room.  Quite against his will he heard snippets of the conversation taking place behind him.

"Well, good luck to you, Castiel.  You've got your work cut out for you."

"Thank you."

"Ah, he'll be fine.  All three of us should be.  I mean, there are people out there making sandwiches for their signature dish.  I mean come on, any idiot can make a sandwich."

Dean scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yeah," the first person said, "but just think about it.  If they make a truly amazing sandwich, it stands out that much more.  It gets you remembered.  And being remembered out of a hundred people is really the key here."

"That's true," the second guy, Cast-whatever, replied.  "But then, how complicated can a sandwich really be?"

Dean was already in a foul mood, so he spun around in his chair and saw two douchebags and the back of a head of an asshat.

"Hey.  Sandwiches are the most commonly eaten food in America.  If you think cooking is only about the hoity-toity crap that most people don't even want to eat, you're a fucking idiot as well as a snob."

The douchebags made slightly scandalized faces as they looked at him and the asshat turned around and...fuck.  Those were some blue eyes.

"I never said a sandwich can't be good," Blue Eyes said unperturbed, "but they're not terribly complicated either."  His voice was rough and sounded like he'd just woken up.  Or been thoroughly fucked.

Dean gave himself a small shake and focused on his arrogance, which was wholly unattractive.  "And what are you going to make?"

"A coq au vin."

Dean's jaw dropped.  "A coq au vin?  **A coq au vin**?  In forty-five fucking minutes?"

"Well, it will be an interpretation of the dish, and a not true coq au vin.  But it will show my skill set off nicely by using the sous vide technique."

Dean blinked slowly at him.  What a pretentious dickwad.

"Yeah, good luck with that."

"Thank you," he replied seriously.

Dean wondered if the guy didn't get sarcasm, and shifted uncomfortably as the freak just continued to stare at him.  Wasn't their conversation over?  Was he expecting Dean to say something else?

"Group four!" the producer yelled out over the din of the room.  "Please make your way to the staging area."

The guy finally broke eye contact to look at the producer and Dean heaved a small sigh at being released from the intensity of that stare.  He continued to watch a little dumbly as the man stood and shrugged out of a baggy coat.  Dean's eyes traveled up his long legs which looked quite fit in black Chinos that hugged a firm ass.  His narrow waist and flat stomach were showcased by a fitted grey button down tucked into his pants and his chest and arms were clearly toned and strong without being overly muscled.  Dean raised his eyes further and found the man staring at him again.  Dean was fairly used to getting caught sizing people up he found attractive, so he held his gaze.  The man's cheeks turned a little pink and he shuffled awkwardly, his arrogance completely gone as he stood under Dean's scrutiny.

"Good luck," Dean murmured.

The man cleared his throat, and then spun on his heel and walked away.  Dean chuckled to himself as he watched him go.  He rather meanly hoped that his vacuum bag got a hole in it and ruined his "coq au vin" interpretation.  Dean wasn't really that petty; he just wanted to do some post-defeat consoling with him.  Aaron was cute and Dean definitely wouldn't say no to him, but if he had a choice—the things he could do to that stuck up prig...

"Hey, excuse me!"

Dean pulled himself out of his fantasy when someone snapped their fingers in front of his face.  It was one of the producers.

"Yeah?"

"We're going to film a confessional from you.  Just give us some of your thoughts of what the first round of cooking was like."

"Oh—okay, do I—" Dean cut off as a small woman grabbed his face and began dabbing the shine off his forehead with powder makeup.  He'd been less than thrilled when he'd been told he'd have to wear a little makeup while filming; he'd put it on the list of reasons why he was going to noogie Sam to within an inch of his life when this was over.

When the woman finished the bright light and boom mic moved into place.  They positioned the camera about three feet from his face.

"Okay, whenever you're ready."

Dean rubbed his palms on his jeans.  "Um.  What should I say?"

"What was it like cooking?  Are you proud of what you made?  How did the judging go?"

"Well, does it matter right now?  I mean, we don't know if I'll even make the first cut."

"True.  But you are one of the most attractive contestants here so you'll probably be featured pretty heavily in the editing and probably the promotions for the beginning of the season."

"Awesome."

"Yep.  So.  How was it?"

***

"Well, we really had our work cut out for us, didn't we?" Bela said, smiling at the other judges but cheating toward the camera.

"Yes, there were quite a few stand out dishes," Naomi said.

"And quite a few that stood out for the wrong reasons," Crowley added.

"Oh, God," Gabriel said, "that hummus soup has got to be one of the worst things I've ever put in my mouth."

All the judges wrinkled their noses and made faces at the memory.

"But," Gabriel continued, "those key lime dessert bars were to die for."

"You're just biased because you like sweets," Crowley said.

"Maybe a little, but can you deny they were good?"

Crowley shrugged, refusing to commit one way or the other.

"They were good," Bela chimed in, "but do they really stand up to some of the more complicated savory dishes we tried?  There is a little baking in this competition, but it is mostly savory cooking."

"That's true," Naomi said.  "Would someone whose specialty is desserts be able to hold their own against someone who can prepare a delicious version of coq au vin in only forty-five minutes?  I have my doubts."

"Well, that's why we have the skills section," Gabriel pointed out.

"True."

"And that skills section will also be useful to see if someone who say, makes a fantastic sandwich, really knows how to handle himself in the kitchen."

All the judges nodded sagely.

Bela faced the camera fully.  "Well, we've got some decisions to make.  See who makes the cut as we narrow the field from one hundred to just forty for the skills challenge after this commercial break."

***

***

 

"Attention everyone!"

The large group of contestants looked up from their miserable dinners of flimsy ham sandwiches and saw the producers shouting at them from the doors.  They'd been waiting around for nearly three hours after the last group had finished.  They'd all been up since six in the morning and it was now almost seven at night.  Everyone was tired and cranky and anxious.  Dean had managed to find a nice, friendly girl named Celeste to talk to after he'd blown his chances with Aaron, and Blue Eyes seemed way too shy to come anywhere near him after he'd pretty much undressed him with his eyes.  Though he kept flicking those bright orbs in Dean's direction and Dean never failed to let him know he knew he was watching.  The girl didn't appear to mind Dean's distraction as she seemed only interested in his knowledge of Star Trek.

"On this table over here are forty envelopes.  If your name is on one, congratulations you've been selected to move on to the skills test tomorrow.  In the envelope is a packet of information and a key to the hotel you'll be staying in tonight.  We've arranged for a shuttle to drive you all over at eight o'clock, so you'll have time to visit your friends and family before heading over.  If your name is not on one of the envelopes, it means you have been eliminated.  We thank you for coming out and hope you'll audition again next year."

The producer looked out at the unmoving crowd.  Then he turned and walked away.  The contestants closest to the tables stood up and rushed over to check for their names.  Dean stayed seated.  He'd been trying to convince himself all day long that it would be a good thing if he wasn't selected so that he could just get out of the madhouse and go home, but now he found that he was nervous because there was a small niggle of hope and want winding treacherously through him.  He glanced at Celeste, who was also still seated.

"Ready for this?" Dean asked her.

She tossed her red hair over her shoulder.  "No.  But I guess we better check anyway."

"Hey, first round on me if we both crash and burn."

"Deal."

They made their way toward the table, nearly the last two to make it to the front.  Surprisingly, there appeared to be at least five envelopes still sitting on the table.  The crying from rejected contestants was louder than the shouts of the victorious ones as they had left the room to share the news with their family outside.  Dean approached the table and scanned the names.  His eyes caught on one that read, Castiel Novak.  That was a weird ass name.

"Ah!"  Celeste started jumping up and down beside him.  She grabbed an envelope off the table.  "I made it!  That's me!  That's me!"  Dean could see "Charlie Bradbury" written in thick, black letters on the manila envelope.

"Uh, Celeste," Dean said gently, "that says Charlie, not Celeste."

"Oh.  I know.  I'm using an alias on the show."

Dean blinked at her.  "You can do that?"

"Sure.  As long as the producers know I'm Celeste Middleton in order to give me my prizes when I win, they don't care what you're called on the show."

"Ah.  So, should I call you Celeste or Charlie?"

"I guess you should start calling me Charlie now so you'll be used to it when we start filming the show."

"That's optimistic of you."

"I'm a very up person.  Oh!  Is this you?" she cried excitedly grabbing an envelope and holding it up.

At first Dean couldn't comprehend what he was reading.  What the envelope meant.  He'd cooked the sandwich he'd made up to tick off Jo in a competition with one hundred of the best chefs in the country, and he'd been determined to be at least one of the top forty there.

"Your name is Dean, right?  Is this not you?"  Celeste—Charlie—looked very worried and like she was on the verge of being really embarrassed.

"No.  I mean, yes.  That's me.  Dean Winchester."

He took the envelope from her hand and stared at his name as Charlie jumped into his free arm for a distracted embrace.  He glanced back at the table and saw Blue Eyes picking up the envelope with the strange name on it.

"Casteel," Dean heard himself saying.  He panicked for a quick moment when he had the guy's attention on him.  "I guess your cock was pretty tasty then," he said with a smirk.

The man blushed, but held his gaze.  "I told you I was skilled."

Dean's smirk faltered a little and he swallowed.  "Congratulations."

"Thank you.  And to you too," he glanced at the envelope in Dean's hand.  "Dean."

Dean nodded and the man started to turn away, but then he turned back.  "Castiel," he said.

"What?"

"My name is actually Castiel, not Casteel."

"Ah.  Sorry.  I suck at pronunciation."

Castiel shrugged.

"Well, how about Cas?  I think I can manage that one pretty easily."

Castiel tilted his head slightly and if that wasn't the most fucking adorable thing Dean had ever seen in his life, fuck him sideways.

"I like Cas," the man replied.  Then he walked toward the exit.  Dean felt a smile on his lips as he watched him leave, that ass still looking good in those pants, and was reminded of Charlie as she snickered beside him.  He looked down at her.

"What?"

"Nothing, bro.  Go for it.  A fiery affair with another contestant will probably get you more screen time."

"Shut-up," Dean laughed and nudged her hard enough that she stumbled toward the door with an indignant shout.

***

"Here we are at the quarterfinals!" Bela said excitedly to the camera.  "The Skills Test!"

"Challenge."

"What?" Bela asked the producer.  "Let's do it again, but it's the Skills Challenge."

"Right, sorry.  Here we are at the quarterfinals!  The Skills Challenge!  One hundred of the greatest chefs in America have been narrowed down to forty.  Now we're going to test their culinary technical skills.  In this challenge, there will be no time limit.  The contestants will have to complete tasks up to the skill level required of America's Next Top Chef.  Our judges will be walking the floor as they work and those chefs that are not up to snuff will get a tap on the shoulder and that will be the end of their run.

"The five tasks the chefs must complete are to cleanly break down a Chilean sea bass and cut out four perfectly portioned fillets.

 

 They must chop two large onions into as close to uniform one centimeter cubes that they can.

 They must separate six egg yolks from the whites and then hand whip the whites into stiff peaks.

 Next they will have to peel three apples and remove as little flesh as possible.

 Finally the chefs will have to prepare one of the five 'mother' sauces of their choice: béchamel, velouté, tomato, espagnole, or hollandaise.

 "Now remember, cheftestants," Dean rolled his eyes at the word, "this is not a timed challenged as we want to see your best techniques.  However, part of good technique is swiftness and efficiency.  Good luck!  And begin!"

Dean inhaled deeply as he picked up his knife and set to work on the onions.  His game plan was to start easy and give himself some time to think.  The onions, apples, and egg whites would be a breeze.  He'd probably be done with all three in ten minutes or less.  The fish might pose a problem.  Having grown up mostly in Kansas and the Roadhouse's original location being in Nebraska, neither he nor Ellen were particularly familiar with fresh fish.  When they'd come across each other, however, the new Roadhouse was set up in a moderately sized town on the Gulf of Mexico in Texas not too far from Dean's last base of assignment, Corpus Christi.  Due to the demands of the local population they'd had to start serving quite a bit of catfish.  As such, Dean had become quite skilled at breaking down catfish and pulling out nice, clean fillets.  Chilean sea bass looked like an entirely different beast.

Then he had to deal with the sauce.  His brother had managed to get him into a culinary course by giving the lessons to him as a birthday present and pulling out his best puppy dogs eyes to get him to go.  He only went to one class though, citing that being the only dude in the classroom of twenty women was the reason he had quit.  In reality it had been that the first lesson had been so far over his head he was certain he'd look like an idiot if he stayed on.  Fortunately that first class had been about the "mother" sauces of classic cuisine.  He didn't remember anything except that hollandaise was one and he was pretty sure he could manage that.  Heck, as long as he was already going to have egg yolks separated, he might as well make it easy on himself.  Not that he had much more than a vague idea of how to make the others, though he supposed even he could pull off a tomato sauce.

In a matter of three and a half minutes he had two peeled and chopped onions, perhaps not perfectly uniform, but a heck of a lot better than either of the people to his left and right, and three peeled apples with so little flesh on the discarded skins that parts of it were visibly red.  He started on the eggs and soon was using some serious elbow grease to whip the egg whites into submission.

Gabriel had already passed by his station once while he was peeling the apples and stopped and watched him do it.  Then he'd given him a wink before he moved on and watched the contestant in front of him butchering his fish.  Or attempting to.  Gabriel had given him a pat on the shoulder and the poor kid had been gone in about two minutes.  But he'd cut the damn fish in half—separating the head and tail into pieces and destroying any chance at getting out decent fillets.

As he got the whites to form stiff white peaks in only three or four minutes, Naomi cruised by his station, examining his three completed tasks and checked her watched.  She quirked an eyebrow at him and he held his breath.  She moved on.  Dean let out a shaky breath and looked at the egg yolks and the whole fish.  Here came the tricky part.  He decided to just go ahead and break down the fish since he knew that if he tried to do that and get the hollandaise started at the same time he'd burn the sauce.

Getting fillets out of the sea bass turned out to be not so different from breaking down a particularly large catfish, and Dean was pretty proud of himself for how cleanly they came out.  He used the sensitive tips of his fingers to search for any stray bones and looked up to see how the competition was doing.  The guy from Louisiana was stirring something in a pot, a pile of chopped onions, peeled apples, and beaten egg whites sitting on his station.  He was whistling and seemed completely unstressed and like he was enjoying himself.  He could see the flash of Charlie's bright hair several stations away, but he couldn't see how she was faring with the challenge.  The guy next to him was still trying to get his egg whites to stiffen, but he had no muscle mass to speak of and had to keep putting the bowl and whisk down to shake out his arm.  It was kind of an unfair challenge seeing as how all chefs used electric beaters to make their egg whites, but if that was one more person down—Dean wasn't going to complain about his odds going up.

Once he had four perfect fillets—well, three perfect fillets and one with a torn side that he tried to hide by stacking against the other three—he began on his hollandaise: egg yolks and butter warmed up with lemon and seasoning.  At least he was pretty certain that was the basis for the sauce.  He supposed he would find out.  As he was letting the butter and egg yolks mix in a double boiler, he let his eyes wander again.  He saw Cas at a station one row up and one space over.  The diagonal gave him a perfect clandestine view of the man's hands as he worked.

He had large, masculine hands, but his fingers were so slender and graceful they had an air of fragility about them.  Dean watched as those fingers glided probingly over one of his fillets, checking for bones.  And watching that tan skin slip over the white flesh of the fish should not be arousing.  Dean focused back on his sauce.

There was a small commotion at the front of the room and Dean looked up to discover that the judges and the cameras had all congregated together.  It looked like there was spirited debate going on amongst them.  Then Bela stepped up onto an apple box and called out for the chefs' attention.  There had only been a couple of murmured conversations taking place, so it quieted down pretty quickly.  The contestants all looked up but kept one eye on their current task.

"Okay, everyone, we've eliminated as many as we can based on your hand skills.  But we've still three more to cut."

Dean was a little surprised.  He glanced around and noticed almost half the stations were in fact empty—and he was still in the competition.  He simultaneously felt thrilled and nauseated.

"So, we hope you've started on your sauces because we will be coming around in **three** minutes to sample them all.  Three more of you will be cut and the top twenty will move on to the semifinals.  Get cooking!"

There was a burst of activity as the chefs abandoned all other tasks and focused on their sauces.  Dean added lemon, cracked black pepper instead of cayenne pepper, and a touch of cumin for a hint of smoky flavor to his base.  Then he realized he'd just added a "touch of cumin" for a "hint of smoky flavor"—and he couldn't help but laugh, loudly, at himself.  He cut off his laughter as several pairs of eyes turned to glare at him, Cas included.  Dean looked over toward Louisiana—he was smiling at him.  Well, at least one person had a sense of humor.

The judges swept through the room quickly, sampling just a dab of each sauce from a spoon while they listened to the chefs rattle off their ingredients.  Then they left, offering up no commentary.  Within minutes they had tasted everyone's sauces and had had another little secretive conference at the front of the room—with the cameras in their faces, of course—and then Naomi, Gabriel, and Crowley fanned back out into the cooking stations with purpose.  Dean's stomach dropped as he saw Crowley striding purposefully toward him.  He was mostly upset that he was wrong about how much he'd actually wanted this.  Poor, well-intentioned Sam.  Dean was going to take all his stress and disappointment out on his do-gooder ass as soon as he saw him again.

Just before Crowley got to him, he gave him a smirk and turned to walk to the station to Dean's left.  He put a hand on the scrawny guy's shoulder and patted him twice.  The guy burst into tears.  Dean made a face.  Geez.  If—when—he got eliminated he knew at the very least he wasn't going to go out like that.

"Alright," Bela said, smiling awfully cheerfully for someone who had just helped to crush twenty people's dreams, "we've narrowed down the field to our top twenty chefs.  Now in order to determine our finalists, the chefs will have to prepare a dish using all five of the ingredients they just prepped.  They will have access to the pantry for other ingredients, but all five of the Skills Challenge ingredients must be used in some way.  Chefs, you will have twenty minutes to prepare your creations.  Oh, and one more thing, chefs.  Your time—starts now."

Twenty people started, froze, and then dashed for the pantry or cooking gear or to simply turn in a circle as they couldn't decide what they wanted to do first.  Dean immediately pulled the sauce off the heat to let it cool and then moved swiftly into the pantry to gather the components he'd need to make a mango salsa—a recipe he'd seen in a magazine while waiting at the dentist office once—and decided throwing in some apple wouldn't alter it too much.  The salsa had a lot of components that needed chopping, and he was forced to also season and sauté his fish at the same time.  It kept his attention divided and his brain whirring, but the time constraint left him with no choice.

As he worked he kept waiting for the panic to set in—but it never came.  He just didn't have time to panic.  He was working and it kept him distracted enough to get done what he needed to get done.  With a minute and a half left on the clock, Dean made his riskiest maneuver: he added a bit of hollandaise sauce to some of the eggs whites and beat them back to stiffness.  It was on odd hollandaise meringue and he didn't dare taste it.  He just hoped it wouldn't be as disgusting as the poor saps who had made a tomato sauce and now had to pair that with fish.  He just finished adding a dollop of the hollandaise meringue to the last fillet when a buzzer sounded loudly in the room.

"Time's up!  Tools down!" Bela called out.

All the chefs put their hands in the air and stepped back from their stations.  The judges moved at once to the first chef and began tasting and critiquing.  Once again, Dean was toward the back of the pack and he watched the "meringue" start to break down on the warm fish.  This was going to be a disaster.  By the time the judges got to him it had completely melted into the salsa on top of the fillets.  Once he explained where the ingredients were he could see the judges all make skeptical, and even scared faces as they prepared to taste his dish.

No one outright spit out their food or wrinkled their noses at the first bite.  That was a good sign at least.  Naomi pulled one of the fillets apart with a fork.

"This is cooked perfectly," she said, almost sounding surprised.  "One of the best cooked we've had actually."

"Thank you," Dean murmured.  Then tacked on, "Chef," as he'd heard all the other contestants do.

"The mango and apple salsa has good flavor," Gabriel said.  "Good acidity to cut through the sweetness of the fruits without completely masking it."

"And even the meringue isn't terrible," Crowley said.  "It's buttery, which is good for a rich fish like sea bass.  The egg whites do give it an—interesting texture shall we say.  Also, it has completely disintegrated.  However, it does make for an interesting idea of creating savory meringues.  It's worth exploring.  Very creative.  Still a little unpleasant on the palate though."

"Thank you, Chef," Dean muttered, disheartened.

The judges moved on to Louisiana's station and Dean put his hands on his station and exhaled slowly.  Well, at least he'd done his best.  He looked to his left to catch one last glance at Nice Ass McBlue Eyes and was pleasantly surprised to find him looking at him.  Cas straightened and blushed furiously at being caught staring, and immediately turned away.  Dean chuckled and looked back down at his picked apart dish.  He picked up a fork and gathered a bit of fish, salsa, and even some of the dammed hollandaise meringue.  He hesitated before putting it in his mouth, but then decided if the judges could do it, so could he.  He raised his eyebrows.  Heck, he thought it was pretty good—then he tilted his head as he felt that odd texture Crowley had been talking about.  Hmm.

***

Bela smiled brightly at the camera.

"We have really put these chefs to the test these past couple of days, but we have narrowed down one hundred fantastic chefs to the best baker's dozen we could find.  For season nine of America's Next Top Chef, meet your Lucky Thirteen, America!"

**Zachariah Adler**

 Everybody's smiling now.  We'll see how long that lasts.

**Sarah Blake**

 After I quit my job to be a stay at home mom, I had a lot of time to experiment in the kitchen—and I think I've been quite successful.  I'd love if this season a self-taught home chef could take the title.

**Benny Lafitte**

  Ain't nothin' to it.  Once folk get a taste of good ol' Creole cookin' they'll be wondering how they lived this long without it.

**Kevin Tran**

  I just want to win this so maybe my mom will stop sighing every time she sees me because I didn't go to Harvard.

**Tracy Bell**

  I've never been taken seriously as a chef because of my age and gender.  Even my looks work against me.  If these boys want ogle my ass instead of work, that's fine with me.  I'm here to cook and I'm here to win.

**Rufus Turner**

 Why you think I'm in this competition?  Because I  **don't**  want to win?

**Aaron Bass**

  Everyone is expecting me to cook Jewish food.  I have studied at the Culinary Institute of America and apprenticed under world renowned chefs that specialize in Asian, French, and Mediterranean cuisines.  I will be cooking Jewish food.

**Meg Masters**

  I'm not here to make friends.  I'm here to win because I'm the best chef.  And to look good while I do it.

**Jody Mills**

  Welp.  My son says I'm the best chef in the country.  Guess I better prove him right.

**Garth Fitzgerald IV**

 I was in dental school before I decided to change career paths.  You know, I don't think cooking is all that different from dentistry.  I mean, you put things in people's mouths and hope it doesn't make them gag!

**Charlie Bradbury**

  I learned how to cook from watching my mom when I was younger.  If I win this, it will be because **her** cooking is amazing.  I want to do her proud.

**Dean Winchester**

  Um.  The money would be nice.

**Castiel Novak**

  Cooking has always been a refuge for me.  A place where I can create something that will not only nourish the body, but the soul.  I don't just want to win this competition for the prizes and prestige, though they would be nice.  I want to win because I am good at what I love to do.

 Uh, what he said.


	2. Round 1

Dean's eyebrows shot up as the PA tucking the battery pack of his microphone into the back of his jeans got his hand just about halfway down his crack.  Then he tugged on the bottom of Dean's chef's coat, covering the eyesore easily.  The PA moved on to his next victim.

Dean shook his hands out just to have some movement to help him dispel some of the nerves.  The room he and the other contestants were in was a smallish, bare square behind the set where the cooking challenges would be filmed.  He tried to remember their names, but quite a few were eluding him after three weeks between learning them.  After the preliminary rounds had ended, they had all been sent home and told they would receive an informational packet with transportation arrangements in the mail when it was time to return to the competition.  Dean hadn't been thrilled with the packing list—he'd had to go out and buy some new clothes because Sam had said his were too ratty for television.

He did remember Charlie because her red hair and snarky attitude were hard to forget.  He remembered Louisiana, but not his name.  Aaron he gave a smile and a nod to because he did like the guy and wanted to try to be friends with him if possible.  Meg—yes, he remembered Meg.  Several of them had decided to celebrate by drinking at the hotel bar the night following the first cut.  A few had drunk a little too much and paid for it the next day when all were eliminated as their technical skills had suffered under massive hangovers.  All but one.  Meg had had enough alcohol to get **Dean** pretty smashed, and she'd put on a show by singing a lounge song accompanied by the hotel's piano player.  She'd proceeded to slink around the room and planted kisses on almost everyone present—Dean included.  If he hadn't been so concerned with the 5:30am call for the next morning, he might have taken her up on her offer to go visit her room.  Now he was very glad he hadn't as he'd only been in the room with her for ten minutes and she was already getting on his nerves.

And then of course, there was Cas.  He didn't think he'd ever be able to forget those eyes.  His sharp jaw line and delicious looking lips were pretty memorable as well.  Unfortunately, the feeling didn't seem to be mutual as the one time he'd even glanced in Dean's direction, his eyes had slid over him like he hadn't even seen him.  It was disappointing and more than a little damaging to his pride, but maybe Meg's attitude was right.  This was a competition, and they weren't here to make friends.  Or to get laid.

"Man, I tell you what," Louisiana said softly, "it would have been nice to have a breather in between gettin' off the plane and startin' this."

Dean took a half step back so he could face him.  "Yeah, but I think that's part of how this works.  Psychological warfare.  They actually want to see one of us crack.  I'm Dean, by the way," he said sticking out a hand.

The man took it and replied, "Benny Lafitte.  I hope they throw their worst at us.  'Cause then it will be you and me at the end—soldiers know how to survive a war."

Dean tilted his head slightly, a little wary.  "Are you military?"

"Yessir.  Was on track to be career in the Navy until our boat was rammed by a dingy carrying explosives while we were at harbor."

"Oh, God.  You were on the USS Colt."

"I was.  Lost a leg, but got me some space age something or other holdin' me up."

Dean couldn't stop himself from looking down, but Benny's pants covered up the prosthetic.

"Where'd you do your time?"

Dean snapped his eyes back up to Benny's face.  "Uh, I did a couple of tours in Afghanistan.  Marines."

"Mm.  You have that look about you."

"I do?"

"We all got it, brother."

Dean kept his eyes on Benny and felt at ease with the man.  It had been difficult when he'd left the service, not having any friends or family who really understood what he'd been through.  But Benny knew.  They didn't even need to talk about it.  Just having someone else who understood, who got it—was more solidarity than he'd gotten since leaving the Corps.

"Alright!  Attention everyone," one of the producers did her best to round them up into a smaller group.  "We'll be ready to film as soon as Bela gets here.  Now remember, Bela will explain the challenge, and then we'll take a break while the set is prepped, but it shouldn't be more than five minutes, so don't wander off.  Then you'll cook within the parameters of the challenge.  After that Bela and our guest judge will taste the dishes and name the bottom three and top three.  A winner will be selected from the top three.  Then the elimination challenge will be announced.  After that you will all need to take turns in the confessional rooms.  You'll need to talk about your initial reaction to both challenges.  What was going through your head during the cooking process and a recap of the ingredients or techniques you used.  How you felt you'd be placed after you finished.  What you thought about the judging results.  Then we'll head over to the residence we've set up for you.  Your luggage will already be waiting for you there.  Any questions?"

A pretty-ish woman in her late thirties/early forties raised her hand.

"Yes..." the producer glanced down at her clipboard.  "Jody?"

"Uh, what if we don't remember what we were thinking?"

"Just try your best, but don't make anything up.  We'll have some footage you'll be able to review to help jog your memories.  Any other questions?"

There was a quiet murmuring in the room, but nobody asked anymore questions.  They milled around for another ten minutes and Dean enjoyed getting to know Benny a little more.  His eyes strayed a couple of times to Cas, but he had his attention focused on Meg's boisterous storytelling.

A loud crash and shouting outside the holding room drew everyone's attention.  The contestants could hear people scurrying around and the sharp, annoyed voice of Bela Talbot telling someone how very unhappy she was.  It was fifteen minutes before the commotion died down and another five before the contestants were led from the holding room into the competition kitchen.  When they got there, Bela was perfectly poised and smiling at them.  Dean threw a look in Benny's direction and he shook his head in amusement.  Once they were all lined up and the cameras in position, the director called action and Bela began.

"Welcome, chefs!  Are you excited to be back in Miami?  Fantastic.  I hope you're ready for a fierce competition.  Now would you please help me welcome our guest judge, Andy Gallagher."

The contestants let out excited murmurs and clapped as Gallagher walked into the studio.  Seemed like they were pulling the big guns out early.  Gallagher was a well known Miami based chef with three successful fine dining restaurants and he was only twenty-eight years old, the same age as Sam.

"Now chefs, Miami is a beautiful, exciting city with an appetite to match.  It's known for its delicious street food carts as well as it's fine dining.  And for your first Warm Up Challenge, you're going to be combining the two.  Andy?"

"Miami is known for having flavor infusions from a lot of different cultures.  We're going to have you focus on the much beloved taco.  But your task will be to elevate it to haute cuisine."

 So, we have to take a ninety-nine cent taco and turn it into a thirty dollar taco.

 I was scared going into this challenge; I'm a self-taught, stay at home mom chef.  I don't know much about fine dining.

 I figure no matter how fancy it is, as long as it makes you in desperate need of a toilet in thirty minutes or less, it's a successful taco.

"Chefs," Bela continued.  "You will have thirty minutes to create your Top End Tacos.  And remember, the winner of this challenge will gain immunity for the Elimination Challenge."

"And...cut," the director called.

"Okay," a producer ran on set and tried to keep the contestants out of the way as the PAs scurried around prepping the kitchen for the chefs.  "We'll just get the cameras into position and get the walls pulled back so you can get into the pantry.  Everyone had a chance to look through the kitchen earlier so you have an idea where most of the equipment is located, but you are allowed to ask other contestants or me or any of the other producers on hand if you need help locating something."

A few minutes later everything was set, the contestants returned to their original positions, and Bela's hair had one last style check.  Then the director called action.

"Ready, chefs?" Bela said like no time had passed at all from her last sentence.  "Your time starts...now!"

A large digital clock on the wall began counting down from thirty minutes and the chefs burst into action.

Dean wasn't entirely sure what exactly constituted "fine dining," but he sure as hell knew how to make a taco and that lobster was expensive.  He ran straight for the proteins refrigerator and his hand landed on top of someone else's as they grabbed for the handle at the same time.  He turned to look at his competitor and saw Cas' excited blue eyes looking back at him.  He gave the man a small smile.

"I hope you're not here for the lobster."

"When they gave us the tour earlier I saw a package that said Kobe beef."

"You have excellent taste, my friend."

"Hm.  I hope your taste is excellent as well."

Dean stood frozen as Cas yanked the refrigerator door open and rummaged around for the beef.  Had that been a come on?  Dean was jostled back into reality as the other contestants began to crowd him at the chilly opening.  He reached in and grabbed his lobster tails and then ducked into the produce section to gather up his other ingredients.

As he ran back to his station he barely dodged a mini collision with three other contestants.

 I was so focused on my thoughts I didn't even see them until it was too late.

 I'm pretty sure I still have egg in my hair.  Who needs eggs to make a taco?

Dean winced as he listened to the sounds of equipment, ingredients, and people hitting the floor.  Well, at least they were going to get some screen time.  He quickly worked on marinating his lobster tails and chopping like mad to get a pico de gallo mixed up.  He was still wondering what he might do to change the shell part of the taco.  He pretty much figured that what made fancy food fancy was all in the stupid way it was presented on the plate.  Small portions served in circles or something else similarly stupid.  In the end he knew the flavors were there, but his plating just wasn't him.  He felt like he'd sold out and it was only the first challenge.

"Time's up, chefs!" Bela announced.

The director called cut and the PAs rushed to clean off the stations so that only the plates of food were visible for the judging.  It only took a few minutes and then they were back to rolling.  Bela and Andy made their way down the line, sampling each dish and giving a few comments.  Then they returned to the front of the room.

"Okay, Andy, tell us the bad news first.  Who were your bottom three?"

"Well, Garth was one.  I appreciate you trying to do something new and use shaved scallops as your wrapper, but it fell apart and was a mess.  Plus, your other components suffered from lack of time spent on them."

 Yeah, that's not a surprise.  That idea was balls.

"Sarah, the seasoning was pretty good, but the chicken was so dry and overcooked it was almost inedible."

 She couldn't even cook a chicken breast.  This is why home chefs shouldn't be here.

"And, I hate to do it, but Dean I've got to put you in the bottom three.  The flavor was really great and the lobster cooked to perfection.  But...it wasn't a taco."

"Okay, now for some good news," Bela said.  "Your top three."

"Um, Zachariah, your use of classic French flavors to make your taco was an interesting twist.  Meg, I was really surprised how you were able to take two strong, salty flavors like sea urchin and caviar and make them into something really unique and tasty.  And Castiel.  Your presentation was beautiful and that Kobe beef was absolutely delicious."

"Thank you, Chef," Cas said in a shy voice.  Dean couldn't tell if it was genuine of affected.  Meek didn't sit well on him.

"So, who is our winner, Andy?"

"The chef I think who made the most successful blending of street food and fine dining is...Castiel."

Cas looked surprised and the rest of the chefs clapped politely for him.

 Really?  It was a piece of flatbread with some vegetables shoved into it.

"Congratulations, Castiel," Bela said.  "You have immunity for tomorrow's Elimination Challenge.  And speaking of that, Andy, why don't you tell us what that will be."

"Well, we're going to keep to our theme of combining the plebian with the patrician."

 Does anyone realize how condescending that is?

"You'll be making your best interpretation of a gourmet burger."

Dean started smiling as the other contestants showed subdued excitement at the idea.

 This challenge could be trickier than it sounds.  But I got an ace or two up my sleeve.

 You know, I understand the concept of a challenge, but fancy food and diner food don't go together for a reason.  Who wants their burger ruined with artisan bread and expensive cheese?  I make fantastic high end food, but when I want a burger I want it greasy and falling apart.

"So you'll have overnight to plan out your menu because, yes, you must provide a side with your burger, and we'll go shopping tomorrow.  For tonight, enjoy your new home for the next several weeks: a brand new condo right on the beach."

A murmur of real excitement rippled through the contestants and they waved goodbye to Bela and Andy as they pretended to exit the kitchen via a set of swinging doors that led to an empty side of the set.

"Okay.  That's a wrap on the Warm Up Challenge."

"Everyone!" the producer called out, please return to the holding area and you'll be called to do your confessional when we're ready for you."

***

"Oh thank god this day is finally over," Jody moaned as she was the first one through the door of their living quarters.  "I have been up since 6:00pm last night to get here from South Dakota."

"Holy Hermione," Charlie said as she stepped over the threshold.  "This place is amazeballs."

"Do you see this kitchen?" Kevin called out as he walked through the large open space that housed all state of the art appliances and a chef's stove in the center island.

The group of thirteen fanned out into the lavish four bedroom condo, running their hands over the plush light colored furniture and the smooth granite counter tops.

"Uh, has anyone noticed there isn't a TV anywhere?" Aaron asked.

"More importantly has anyone noticed that there are only four bedrooms and three beds in every room?" Zachariah announced with a frown.

"They told us we would be sharing rooms," Tracy shrugged.

"Perhaps we should get room selection out of the way first," Castiel suggested.  "So that those of us that are tired can retire early."

"You can room with me, sugar," Meg purred, looping an arm with his.

"Uh, perhaps," Cas said, politely untangling their arms, "we should stick to separate men's and women's quarters."

"And why is that?" Charlie popped up from behind the kitchen counter.  "Because that's the safe thing to do and men and women can't share a room without wanting to jump each other?"

Cas turned a pleading look on her and Dean felt sorry for the guy.  Not sorry enough to intervene though; it was pretty amusing.

"You're right.  That's not fair," Meg said, looking at Charlie.  "Some women probably can't be in the same room with another woman without wanting to jump then."

She raised a sculpted eyebrow at her and Charlie's jaw dropped indignantly.  Dean did a small double take.  Was Meg implying what he thought she was implying?

"Well, in that regard you have nothing to worry about with me," Charlie retorted.

"All right, that's enough," Jody stepped into the general center of the group.  "We're all adults.  This isn't sleep away camp.  There are no cool kids bunks and we don't have to worry about teenage hormones driving us crazy."

Everyone was quiet for a moment either looking amused, exasperated, or sulky.  Then Aaron spoke up.

"So, one of the rooms has four beds, so that requires an extra roommate.  I'm willing to stay in there if I can have the double bed."

"Are you kidding, shortstop?" Dean asked.  "I feel maybe someone with a little bit longer legs might need the bigger bed."

"Nice logic coming from the tallest guy in the room," Kevin pointed out dryly.

Dean shrugged and smiled.  "I thought it made sense."

"Excuse me?" Rufus said.  "You ain't taller than me."

"You're definitely not taller than me," Zachariah added.

Dean looked at the two men and realized he probably was an inch or two shorter than Zachariah.  He was just so used to being the tallest guy in the room, when his brother wasn't around, that he had just assumed.

"But I can't imagine there are three of you I'd be willing to room with," Zachariah added.

A couple people shot him annoyed looks.

"Agreed," said Rufus.  "Two of you is more than enough."

"Yeah, but who's going to be willing to stay in a room with two crotchety old men?" Meg asked with a laugh.

"I don't mind," Garth said.  "It'll be like that one summer I spent living with my uncle and his roommate.  Those guys were such good friends.  Been roommates for over thirty years."

Everyone gave the smiling man a look to see if he was joking or really that naive.

"Anywho," Charlie said, "Tracy and Sarah and Jody and I will take the four-bed room."

"And leave me stuck with a bunch of dirty, smelly men?" Meg asked.

"Have you ever spent a night not in a man's bedroom?"

"Hey!" Meg took a step forward and the cameramen that had almost faded into the background were suddenly right in the thick of things.

Dean grabbed Charlie's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze while Cas, who was the unfortunate one still standing next to Meg, grabbed her arm and stopped her from advancing.

"Come on now, everyone," Jody said, stepping in again, "It's the **first** day.  It's just a place to sleep.  We'll probably be spending most of our time working the challenges anyway or sitting out here.  It's not really a big deal.  Now, be grown ups and apologize."

Meg crossed her arms and looked at the ceiling while Charlie scuffed her toe and gave Dean a hangdog look.  He shrugged a shoulder at her.

"Come on," Jody prompted.  "Apologize."

Both women muttered something.

"Lovely," Jody said flatly.

"Hey, brother," Benny said softly to Dean, "you willing to bunk with me?"

"Yeah, definitely."

Dean scanned the remaining potential roommates.  Meg was a definite no.  Aaron and Cas would be a bad idea seeing as he had flirted with both of them already.  That left Kevin.  He seemed like a nice enough kid, though a little prone to stress-induced breakdowns.  He was about to ask Kevin if he wanted to join them when Meg latched onto Cas' arm again.

"Cas," Dean heard himself say.  The man looked up at him, remarkably keeping his squirming to a minimum under Meg's grasp.  "You wanna bunk with me and Benny?"

"Yes!  Um.  Yes, that would be fine."

Meg let go of his arm and turned to look at Kevin and Aaron.  "Well.  This ought to be fun."

The group split up then to gather their luggage and put it in their respective bedrooms.  When they found out there were only two bathrooms, all the girls, even Meg and Charlie, had banded together and declared that there would be a girls' bathroom and a boys' bathroom.

Some of the group decided to shower and go to bed since they had been up for over twenty-four hours and needed some rest.  Dean joined the group that decided to make a late dinner.  It was interesting watching five chefs with very different backgrounds trying to cook a coherent meal.  Even something as simple as spaghetti sparked debate at every point regarding what seasoning did and didn't belong and whether or not using jarred tomato sauce was sacrilegious no matter how tired they were.

While that debate raged, Dean wandered off.  He honestly didn't care where the sauce came from as long as it was warm and the pasta wasn't gummy.  He noticed the balcony for the first time as he crossed from the kitchen to the living room.  He headed in that direction as he saw the sliding glass door was partially open.  He pushed the door open all the way and stepped out onto the large balcony that wrapped around the other side of the condo and out of sight.  The lights on the balcony were not on, leaving the space relatively dark and allowing him to see out into the night.  The building was as close to the water as development would allow, which was not terribly close, but close enough that he could hear the waves and smell the water.  The ambient light and noise was pretty loud, they were in Miami after all, but the crash of the ocean on the shore could be heard above it all, and the pitch black lack of humanity spread out in front of him.

He still remembered the first time he'd seen the ocean.  He'd grown up in Kansas and the family vacations had always been to the mountains or to visit relatives—who did not live near any large bodies of water.  He'd been nearly a man, eighteen years old, standing and staring like an idiot at the Atlantic Ocean.  He'd been at Parris Island for two weeks when he and the other new Marines were given their first day pass.  They'd taken the ferry to Hilton Head to spend the day on the beach and it had been a revelation.

"Do you like the ocean, Dean?"

Dean started violently, his heart jumping to his throat with surprise.  He hadn't realized anyone had been out here—though he supposed he should have considered the possibility since the door had been left partially open.  And considering who it was, it wasn't an unwelcome intrusion.  Though it didn't help his heart calm down a whit.

"Hey, Cas.  Didn't see you there."

Cas just smiled in reply.

"Um.  Yeah.  Well, no.  I mean, I don't have a whole lot of experience with oceans.  I think I respect it more than like it."

Cas nodded.  "A wise decision."

"Yeah."  They fell silent and Dean allowed his eyes to roam over Cas' body where he leaned on the railing.  When he returned his gaze to Cas' face, he realized the man had similarly been studying him as his eyes—somehow in the darkness still discernibly blue—raised up to meet his.  They were three feet apart but from the electric pull sparking between them it could have been three inches.  Dean licked his lips.  Cas gently pulled his bottom lip through his teeth.

Then Dean noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.  One of the cameramen had surreptitiously snuck outside and was filming them from a corner.  Dean cleared his throat and straightened up.

"So, uh, we're making spaghetti.  Are you hungry?"

Dean saw Cas' eyes flick over his shoulder as he saw the camera.  "No.  I went around and tasted most of the dishes after the judging was over, so I'm actually quite full."

"We can do that?"

Cas shrugged a shoulder.  "The producers didn't stop me.  And I asked everyone before I tried their dish."

"Trying to feel out the competition, huh?"

Cas smiled, feigning strategic innocence.

"You didn't ask to try mine."

"You went to the confessionals first.  So, I just took a bite anyway."

Dean raised his eyebrows.  "And?"

"And it was delicious.  You probably should have won."

Dean scoffed.  "Yeah, but it 'wasn't a taco.'"

"Well, no it wasn't.  I guess Chef Gallagher was right."

Dean scowled.  "Whatever, dude."

Cas laughed softly and then stood up straight.  "I'm actually pretty beat.  I think I'll just turn in."

"Okay.  We'll try to keep it down."

Cas smiled his gratitude.  Dean held his breath as the man walked past him to get to the door.  The light of the waning full moon hit his face just right as he looked back one last time at Dean; his skin glowed and his eyes shone.  Dean didn't think it was possible for Cas to be any more beautiful.

But he was wrong about that.

Four hours later as he, Charlie, Garth, Meg, and Tracy laughed uproariously—the kind that can only be achieved when spectacularly drunk—at Benny's story about one of his hill folk cousins and his coon huntin' adventures—four people stormed into the room looking cranky and pissed.

Jody had her Mom-Face on, Sarah's face was pinched with annoyance, Kevin looked like a disheveled badger, and Cas—Dean choked on his beer.  He was livid.  His hair was sleep mussed and his beard had grown in enough that it beautifully darkened the hard set line of his jaw as he glared at the group with narrowed eyes.  His arms were crossed over his chest and his biceps were bulging against the tight fit of his T-shirt.  Dean shifted carefully in his seat.  He was not going to get hard with three cameras in the room.

"It is two-thirty in the morning," Jody started, "and we have already been out here twice asking you guys to keep it down."

"We're sorry," Garth said with a hiccup.  "But you should really hear this story Benny was telling—"

"The problem is that we **can** hear it," Sarah mumbled, her sleepiness starting to overtake her ire.

"So shut the door to your room, put in some ear plugs, " Meg said.  "Like you said, Jody, we're all adults so we can all determine our own bedtimes."

Jody put her hands on her hips with a huff.

"This is a competition, guys," Kevin said.  "We—all of us—have to be up early tomorrow and cook for some very picky judges."

Meg shrugged.  "Right, it's a competition.  And if you can't perform well just because you're a little tired, why shouldn't we weed out the weak?"

"That's a terrible view to take," Cas said, frowning.  "It's not very sportsmanlike."

Meg rolled her eyes.

"What are you so upset about?" Dean asked.  "You have immunity."

He immediately regretted speaking when those blue eyes, now hard and cold were turned on him.

"Really, Dean?  You're taking the side of you'll be a dick all you want because maybe that will get some people out of the competition that you couldn't otherwise beat by your own talent?"

What little guilt Dean had been feeling disappeared under a wave of indignant, alcohol-fueled irritation.  He struggled to his feet and had to put a hand on the couch to check his balance.

"I don't need to play dirty tricks to beat anyone here.  But I also don't need total strangers telling me what to do."

"Well, **someone** should since your mother obviously never taught you any manners."

Wrong button.  Dean was in Cas' personal space in a flash, glaring down at him from his slight height advantage, using his larger frame to intimidate him.  But Cas didn't back down and just glared back up at him, lips pressed into a thin, determined line.  The rest of the room had gone quiet, stifled by the intensity of Dean's and Cas' standoff.

"You need to shut your mouth about things you don't know anything about," Dean hissed.

"And you need to grow the fuck up," Cas spat back.

 Mark my words.  If Dean and Cas stay in this competition for any length of time there will either be a knock down drag out fight or *beep*-ing against a wall.

They stared each other down for several long moments.  Dean's skin was buzzing with his inaction.  This was so different from when they'd been on the balcony though.  His fist was aching to punch the self-righteous bastard in the nose—but that would get him kicked out of the competition.

"Hey, brother."  Dean started slightly when he felt a large hand on his shoulder.  "We do have to get up early.  It might be best we all get some shuteye."

Dean felt the slightest pressure on his shoulder—pulling him back and away from Cas.  Dean followed the unspoken suggestion and took a step back.  The tension in the room quickly deflated.

"Well, I have been thoroughly entertained," Meg said, standing up from the couch.  "I guess we should all turn in."

The group dispersed and Dean waved Benny off when he offered to let him shower first.  Castiel had already disappeared back inside their room with a slammed door.  Dean made his way onto the balcony and leaned on the railing.  The lights and sounds of the city hadn't really died down much even with the late hour.

Dean took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.  He had done enough shit in his life that he wasn't proud of without being told that he would be a disappointment to his mother even in the little things.  He didn't have many memories of her, but the ones he did have were of her smiling at him.  He didn't want any of that sabotaged by his own penchant for self doubt and loathing, and he certainly didn't need some dick throwing fuel on the fire just because his beauty sleep had been disturbed.

"Fucker doesn't even need beauty sleep," Dean muttered to himself.

He stayed out on the balcony listening to the ocean telling its stories until the lights started to go out behind him.  He went back inside and stopped Garth from turning out the last light in the hall to the bathrooms.  He was wearing a lavender robe and bunny slippers.  Dean shook his head and decided not to comment on it.

"Oh, hey, Dean.  I didn't know you were still up."

"Yeah, I don't need a lot of sleep, so I figured I would shower last.  Is everyone else done?"

"Yep.  The girls are in bed and Benny went before me."

"Hm.  Hey, were your roommates disturbed by the noise we made?"

Garth laughed.  "Are you kidding?  Rufus is sawing logs in there—I bet he drowned out any noise we made.  And Zachariah has on a sleep mask and ear plugs in."

Dean chuckled.  "You should get a picture of that."

"It is pretty funny.  Well, don't stay up too late.  We do have to cook our asses off tomorrow."

"Will do, man."

Garth shuffled off to his room, the ears on his slippers flopping from side to side.  Dean shook his head and went into the bathroom.  The water pressure was phenomenal, but he still forced himself to take a quick five minute shower just to get the grime of traveling off his skin and hair.  He did a quick brush of his teeth and paused before he turned out the light in the bathroom as he saw a cameraman waiting for him in the hallway.

"Really, dude?"

"We film until everyone is in bed.  And then the night crew hangs around until the morning crew shows up just in case anything exciting happens."

"Mm-hmm."

"Remember though—we're not here..."

"Yeah," Dean scoffed and turned out the bathroom light.  He walked out into the hall and switched off that light too, plunging them into darkness.

"Now I'm not here either."

Dean heard something click.  Then the cameraman said, "Night vision."

Dean rolled his eyes, disgusted.  "Well, let me know if I'm going to trip over something, okay?"

The cameraman didn't respond and Dean shuffled carefully down the hall, keeping one had on the wall for guidance.  He found his room mostly by touch and got lucky he didn't stub a toe on anything.  He opened the door as quietly as he could and before he could shut the door in the camera's lens, the operator was half in the room so Dean just grunted and made his way to his bed.  He grabbed the top of the covers, pulled them back, and then jumped into bed.

Someone cried out and moved against him.  Dean's combat training kicked in and he grabbed his attacker by the arm and pulled it back, but the person squirmed, shouted, and twisted so hard it yanked them both off the bed and into a heap on the floor.  The light flipped on and Benny stood by the switch looking disoriented, but alert.  Dean looked down and realized he was pinning Cas to the floor.  He let go, but didn't exactly move off him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Cas growled.

"What am _I_ doing?  What are _you_ doing in my bed?"

"I wasn't in your bed!  I was in mine!"

"No, my bed was the one by the window."

"And remember when I came out the _second_ time I asked if we could switch so that I wouldn't be near the door and hopefully wouldn't hear you ass—" Cas glanced at the cameraman still in the doorway filming them, "ass—butts making all that racket."

Dean did vaguely recall a short conversation somewhere along those lines, but he'd been distracted by the low slung sleep pants barely clinging to Cas' frame and showing off some wicked hip bones.

"Right.  Sorry."

"Whatever.  Just...please, let me get some sleep, Dean."

Dean grumbled but struggled to get up, tangling with Cas again, both of them grunting and snipping at each other.  At last Dean flopped into his little twin bed and sighed heavily.  He suddenly felt exhausted and was half asleep before Benny turned out the lights.

***

"Good morning, Cheftestants!" Bela called out cheerfully.

There was a small chorus of pleasant good mornings in return, but a larger number of grumbled greetings.  Dean was one of the chipper ones.  He'd gotten almost five hours of sleep—he felt like he'd had a nice sleep-in-late Sunday morning.

"Oh, my," Bela said playfully, picking up on the less than enthused group.  "Did anything happen last night?"

The contestants shifted uncomfortably, but remained silent.  Finally Jody said, "Some of us may not have gotten as much sleep as we would have liked."

"Oh, I see," Bela said making a sympathetic face, which was quite surprising to see her making such an expression after they all witnessed her taking the starch out of a PA that had gotten her coffee order incorrect not ten minutes earlier.  "Nerves, I bet.  Well, you'll have to shake them off.  Because the real competition starts now.  You'll have a budget of seventy-five dollars to shop and forty-five minutes to prepare your burgers.  And chefs—for seventy-five dollars, these had better be some amazing burgers.  Alright.  Let's head to Super Foods."

Dean was not thrilled about having to cram into a minivan for the shopping trip, but he and his late night compatriots were careful not to get into the same van as the people who were glaring daggers at them.  Dean was also not happy that in order to generate a little excitement for the television program, they were given twenty minutes to shop.  They all had to run wild through a rather large grocery store, dodging unsuspecting shoppers, and fighting over who got to the meat counter first.  Kevin and Zachariah were lucky in that they weren't using beef for their patties, which Dean had contemplated—for all of five seconds before remembering that hamburgers whether basic or fancy had to feature a dead cow.  He did buy some fresh made mozzarella that he was going to insert directly into the patty so that warm, melty cheese would be infused in each bite.  God he was really starting to sound like one of those TV chefs.

Back at the studio the PAs set up the stations and verified all the food purchased didn't go over the specified monetary amount and nothing extra got snuck into their shopping bags while the contestants filmed confessionals about their trip to the store.  Dean was pretty sure a couple of them might have filled the viewers in on what had happened last night—not that that wasn't going to air across America anyway.  Dean rubbed his forehead with a hand.  He wondered what he and Cas must have looked like when they had gotten in each other's faces.

"Okay, chefs," Bela said when everyone was back in position.  "You have forty-five minutes to make the most decadent burger of your life.  And don't forget the side order.  Ready?  Begin!"

The chefs hopped into action, moving a little more smoothly than they had the day before, but there was still a lot of anxious tension in the room.  And a lot more swearing.  Dean kept his head down and focused on his work.  If he didn't win the burger challenge, he might as well kiss his career at the Roadhouse goodbye.

 So I get my ingredients out and start mixing up my spice blend to put in the patties.  I get the meat out.  Ground turkey.  Ground.  Turkey.  I have no idea how that happened.  Turkey is so much leaner than beef.  If I'm not careful, I'm going to be serving a dried out piece of turd.

 It may be expected to serve fries with a burger, but these aren't any ordinary fries.  These are my grandmammy's Cajun spice fries.  I could win just for them alone.

 I swear Bela said go and I checked the clock five minutes later and over thirty minutes had passed.  That timer had to be tampered with.

 So, my plan was to make a Seven Layer Burger.  I should have made the Nine Layer Burger—so it would correlate with the nine circles of hell I've been through today.

Dean stood in front of the large grill surface next to Aaron.  They were having to share the surface top and trying their best not to mix up their patties.

"So, are you making a kosher burger, or..."  Dean trailed off and glanced at Aaron.

He laughed at him.  "Naw, Winchester, I'm making a burger that's going to blow yours out of the water."

Dean scoffed.  "Yeah, right, gingerbread."

"Gingerbread?  What does that even mean?"

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it, not having an explanation.  He side-eyed Aaron and didn't reply as he just got laughed at.

They both turned in alarm when someone started screaming and they saw a pillar of fire shooting up from the fryers.  Sarah stood by it screaming while Cas grabbed the lid and smothered the flames.  When he pulled the lid back the flames were gone but thick black smoke curled out of the fryer.  Sarah lifted out her basket of charcoal.

"Well, I hope no one else needed the fryer because this oil is shot," Cas reported.

Several people moaned in despair as they had all been waiting to as close to the last minute as they could to fry their side item.  Dean smirked.  His side item was happily baking away in the oven.

 I've never used a deep fryer before.  It's not something we keep in the house.  I don't even know what happened.  Do I still have my eyebrows?

"Alright, chefs!  Time's up!  Tools down!"

Everyone stepped back from their plates with their hands in the air.  There were a couple of curses and Dean saw Rufus' side item sitting in a bowl at his station, but not on the plate.  He did not look happy about it.  The cameras got a few reaction shots of people's faces and the finished dishes, and then the director called cut.  A SWAT team of hair and make-up specialists swooped in on Bela and fussed over her as she walked into the judging room.

"Now," the producer Dean had finally remembered was named Daniela said, "we've randomly selected your names from the chef's hat and that is the order you will be presenting your dishes.  When your name is called, please proceed to the judging room with one of your plates as the other four will already be carried in and set up before the judges.  First up will be Kevin.  Good luck, hon."

Kevin nodded and picked up one of his plates, walking carefully with it as the two PAs carrying his other dishes carried the plates tilted dangerously toward the floor.  Aaron nudged Dean with his elbow.

"So, what is that you made for your side?"

"Ah, pretty cool, huh?  They're like mini baked potatoes.  I baked the potatoes all the way through first—and I was worried forty minutes wouldn't be enough time for them to cook all the way through, but that's why I got smaller potatoes and put the oven on like six hundred."

Aaron laughed.  "No wonder it got so hot in here."

"Yep.  Then I just quartered them and added some butter and sour cream and mixed up the starch inside the skin.  Then some salt, pepper, cheese, scallions.  And of course..."

"Bacon," Aaron said.  "I love bacon."

"Everybody loves bacon."

"It's pretty clever, Dean."

"Yeah, it is pretty clever," Cas chimed in from three people down.  "I'm pretty sure the guy who invented potato skins thought the same thing."

Dean turned a withering look on him and got a smirk in return.

"It's **not** a potato skin.  It's—still got the potato in it."  Dean picked up a left over piece of bacon and chucked it at him.  Cas caught it easily and popped it into his mouth, chewing pointedly.  Dean narrowed his eyes.  Cas returned the gesture.

Dean was third to go and for the first time felt confident as he presented his dish to the judges.

Both Bela and Gabriel tried to out porn star each other with their reactions and Crowley complained that the cheese in the meat had compromised the integrity of the patty.  Dean barely refrained from rolling his eyes.  Andy defended him and said it was perfectly made.  Dean decided he would treat Sam to a meal at one of Gallagher's restaurants when this was over.  Naomi ate her burger with a knife and fork.  Dean almost threw his shoe at her.  Even so he left the room feeling confident.  When all the contestants had been in to see the judges, they were escorted into the holding room to wait and take their turn in the confessionals for their reactions to the judging.

"So, how did your judging go?" Dean asked Benny.  Benny had tried to bake his Cajun fries with only minutes to spare since the fryer had been out of commission, and it had been pretty obvious some of them had still been raw.

"Oh, it went alright.  They liked my burger.  And even though they did point out the fries were undercooked, they did say they liked the seasoning."

"That's good.  Are you worried, though?"

"Not really.  A lot of us kind of got screwed with the whole side item thing.  And Rufus didn't even get his on the plate.  I don't think I'll be going home."

"That's good.  It would suck if you went home so early."

"You ain't lyin', brother."

[](http://i.imgur.com/p4JIvM7.jpg) My burger was too tall.  Too tall.  They said it was impossible to eat without a knife and fork.  Well, they asked for fine dining and I'm sorry, but there's no such thing as finger foods in fine dining.  At least Naomi was on my side.

 They said my burger tasted great and was well made—they just wished there'd been a little more richness to it.  Well, yeah, like animal fat?  Stupid ground turkey.

"How long have we been in here?" Charlie asked as she plopped down in the folding chair next to Dean.  "I mean, I spend literally days sitting at a table playing RPGs and I never got chair bottom like I do now."

"Chair bottom?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, you know, when your but gets all tingly and when you stand up it still feels all flat like it's pressed on the seat?"

Dean vaguely shook his head.

"No?  Well, you're lucky then."

Dean chuckled and glanced at Cas.  He was sitting across from him, slumped down in his chair and looked like he was about to fall asleep.

"Hey, Cas!" Dean shouted.

Cas startled awake and looked around the room.  He scowled when everyone tried to stifle their laughter.

"You look pretty tired, man," Dean said.  "You should really get some sleep when we get back to the condo."

Cas' eyes narrowed to a point where Dean wasn't even sure he could see through them.

"I'll try to, Dean, but you're going to have to try to stay out of my bed."

The room burst into giggles and murmurs and Charlie nudged Dean as he flushed up to the tips of his ears.

"What is that all about?"

"A misunderstanding," Dean muttered, slouching down in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

Thankfully before Charlie could wheedle anything out of him, they were informed the judges had made a decision—after over two hours—and led into the judging room.  The four judges sat primly at the table with their hands clasped together and resting on the judges' table.  Even Gabriel looked pretty solemn.  Bela stood in front of the table holding a canister full of spatulas.  The contestants walked to their pre-designated marks and waited for the director to get everyone situated.  Then he called action.  Bela spoke.

"Chefs, your challenge today was to blend fine dining with an everyday favorite.  We had some really wonderful gourmet burgers, and some not so wonderful side items.  But all in all we were very impressed.  One of you will be named the winner and given a pick from the prize tree.  And unfortunately, one of you will be eliminated.

"I hold in my hands twelve spatulas with names on them.  These spatulas represent the twelve chefs that will continue on in the hope of becoming America's Next Top Chef.  The chef's name that I do not call must immediately return to the kitchen, pack up your knives, and go."

Dean bit his lip as he felt the laughter bubbling up inside him.  He'd seen the show before.  He knew all about the bestowing of the spatulas.  But seeing it live, in person, he couldn't help but marvel at Bela managing to deliver that ridiculous speech without cracking a smile.  He let out a bleat of laughter and sucked in  a breath.  Everyone partially turned their head, and Bela hesitated as if she was unsure whether or not to continue.  Then Dean snorted with the effort of trying to keep his laughter in.  He could see Charlie shaking silently with her own laughter.  Benny's lips were twisted into a strange shape.  Aaron broke first.  Then he and Aaron and Benny and Charlie were laughing uncontrollably.  Some of the other contestants joined in and the director yelled cut.  They had to try three times to get themselves under control before they were settled enough to get the cameras rolling again.

Bela started again.  "I hold in my hands twelve spatulas—"

She broke off as someone laughed.  Dean glanced to his right and saw the instigator was Cas.  Soon everyone was laughing again.  The director yelled cut again, sounding exasperated, and the makeup team was called into the room to provide tissues to the people who were laughing so hard they were crying.  Nearly twenty minutes later, everyone was finally sober enough to participate in the ceremony.

"This first spatula is today's best dish and winner of the challenge."  Bela held up the spatula with the number one painted on the back and flipped it around in dramatic fashion.  "Dean!"

Part of Dean had been expecting to win, but it was still a surprise.  He walked over to Bela and accepted his spatula.

"Congratulations, Dean.  You're still in the running to become America's Next Top Chef."

"Thank you," he said, digging his nails into the palm of his hand and hoping the pain would help him keep a straight face.

"You may pick an envelope from the prize tree."

Dean walked over to where the sculpture made of flatware gleamed brightly in the stage lights.  He picked one of the envelopes from the middle section and tried not to take a step forward as a cameraman stood almost pressed directly behind him in order to film him opening the card.  They'd all been instructed they were to read the prize aloud.  Dean's eyebrows shot up.

"Whoa.  An all expenses paid three day two night excursion for two to Napa Valley."  The other contestants "oo-ed" behind him.  "Provided by Crossroads Vineyard," Dean was sure to plug the sponsor and turned to smile at Crowley who winked in return.

The other contestants clapped politely as he thanked the judges again and made his way back to the other side of the set where the safe chefs were to stand while the ceremony continued.  He couldn't help himself as he passed by Cas who was on the end, and lightly slapped his rear with the flat of the spatula with a discreet flick of his wrist.  Cas jumped and shot him a dirty look, but was forced to face front again as Bela continued.

Kevin came in second with his black bean vegan burger.  Dean had his reservations about that, but at least a real burger had won.  Aaron was called next, followed by Zachariah, Charlie, Meg, Benny, Jody, Tracy, and Garth.  Dean was feeling more and more antsy as every name was called and he didn't know why.  Not until Castiel's name was finally called and his body relaxed.  He'd been nervous about Cas, which was ridiculous.  He was competition.  And he had immunity.  Cas moved to join the group and flicked his eyes in Dean's direction before standing safely out of spatula range.

"Rufus and Sarah, please step forward."

The bottom two chefs moved to stand in front of Bela.  Rufus had the same scowl he'd had on his face since he'd arrived and Sarah looked on the verge of tears.

"Two very talented chefs stand in front of me, but I only have one spatula in my canister.  Rufus, you made a delicious burger, but the challenge was that a side item must also be included and you failed to provide us with one."

Rufus huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Sarah, you provided both items, but the burger was so greasy it lacked almost any other flavor and your chili powder dusted apple slices were way off the mark."

Sarah wiped a tear from her cheek.

"So, who stays and who goes home?"  Bela turned around the spatula with the number twelve on it.  "Rufus.  Congratulations.  You're still in the running to becoming America's Next Top Chef."

Rufus accepted the spatula with a muttered thank you and moved to stand with the rest of the contestants.  Sarah let the tears fall.

"I'm sorry, Sarah, that means you're out.  Please return to the kitchen and pack up your knives."

Sarah nodded and walked over to the other chefs.  Almost everyone gave her a hug, but no one was particularly sad to see her go as it meant they had all survived the first cut.  The contestants were ushered into the holding room and then allowed to remove their chef coats so they could put them in the laundry.  They were taken to dinner at a local family style restaurant and Dean somehow found himself sitting next to Cas.  They didn't have too much to say to each other, but when one pressed his leg against the other's he didn't pull away for the remainder of the meal.  Neither one was quite sure who had done what though.

 It's disappointing, yeah.  To be the first one out.  I really wanted to show America what a self-taught chef could accomplish.  But considering I made it this far, well, that's pretty impressive.  I'm proud to have been here and don't regret a thing.

***

After dinner when the chefs returned to the residence, Sarah had already packed her belongings and left the condo.  That was the point of the dinner provided by the show, so there could be a dramatic exit with the chefs returning home to find a note from the ousted contestant.  Sarah had a left a short and sweet note and everyone tried to act properly bummed that she was gone and that they would possibly never see her again.  In reality, Sarah was down the hall in another condo as their contracts stipulated that they had to stay on for the duration of the show in case another contestant had to drop out or was disqualified and had to actually be sent packing.  Also, there was some other big mystery they hadn't been informed about as to why the chefs had to stay on, but based on other seasons they were certain Sarah would show up for another challenge at some point down the road.

Before everyone scattered a meeting was held and by majority rule, quiet hours were being imposed after 11:00pm on nights before challenges.  And even though tomorrow they had downtime, half went to bed early and the rest dispersed throughout the condo to read or use the one laptop they were allowed to contact their families via Skype.  Dean went out onto the balcony and was joined by Charlie and Kevin.  He half-listened to the two of them discuss dungeons and dragons, or perhaps **the** _Dungeons & Dragons_, and was forced to join in the debate when it seemed like Kevin was swaying Charlie into believing Picard was a better captain than Kirk.

Kevin surrendered to sleep first and Charlie followed him shortly after.  Dean stayed lounging on one of the chairs, enjoying the warm air and the salty breeze from the ocean.  He understood now why people played tapes of the ocean while trying to go to sleep—the rhythmic sound was almost therapeutic.  Dean wasn't sleepy, but he was lulled into a bit of a trance.  The sliding of the glass door pulled him back to reality and the sight of Cas walking toward him made his heart miss a beat—because it certainly didn't skip one.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said.

"Hello, Dean.  Do you mind if I join you?"

"Can't sleep?"

"Mm, I'm having a hard time getting used to that bed."

"Yeah, they're not the most comfortable in the world."

"I thought maybe the sound of the ocean would help a little."

"You could always open the window in our room.  I'm sure Benny won't mind; he used to be in the Navy."

Cas' slowly growing smile faltered and disappeared.  "Ah.  You're right.  I guess I should have thought of that.  I'll do that."

He turned around and walked stiffly back inside.  Dean was left confused, wondering why he had suddenly left.  Then it dawned on him that he'd never said that he didn't mind if Cas joined him and then told him he could just as easily hear the ocean from their room.  Cas must have inferred that meant he didn't need to be on the balcony bothering Dean.

Dean groaned softly and closed his eyes.  "Crap."


	3. Round 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a pairing in this chapter that is not listed in the tags, and that's because they appear only briefly and do not show up again after this chapter. Also, it's a strange couple and I thought it might scare people off, ha ha. I hope it is taken in the spirit in which they were paired: humorously.

Dean woke up feeling a little odd.  It took him a moment to figure out why he felt so…exposed.  He was face down on the twin bed and sometime in the night he had stretched out his arms and legs.  They had splayed over the sides of the bed and he was now spread eagle with the sheets tangled around one leg.  He struggled to get his limbs back onto the bed so he could turn over.  Sunlight was streaming in through the east facing window and both Benny’s and Cas’ beds were empty and neatly made.  Well, at least no one had been present to see his little display, although depending on how long he’d been in the position, they both would have gotten nice a view of him as his bed was right by the door.

“Awesome,” Dean muttered.

He yawned and stretched and finally untangled his leg from the sheets so he could get up and go to the bathroom.  He was not going to make up his bed.  He’d spent eight years in the Marines having to make hospital corners and once he was out they were the first thing of his painstakingly acquired discipline to go.

Luckily the bathroom was unoccupied when he got to it because he really had to pee.  It was a shame a woman had been the first to be sent home because they really needed to clear out some of the men.  Eight dudes and one bathroom was a disaster waiting to happen.

When he ambled into the kitchen he found Charlie and Kevin preparing a very technical dish that required the most talented of chefs to create perfectly: cereal.  Dean grabbed a bowl and spoon from the cupboards and Charlie slid him a box of Honey Puffs down the counter top.  The three of them crunched in companionable silence for all of three seconds until the Star Trek captain debate was resumed.  Dean was not unashamed to pull rank on them, based on his superior number of years on the planet, and declared most of their arguments to be invalid based on stupidity.  Kevin and Charlie had both gotten huffy and Dean had just smiled at them.  It was like having two younger siblings who were interested in cool things rather than the nerd he had grown up with.  Not that he would trade Sam for them (or anything), but maybe an addition or two wouldn’t hurt.

Dean was a little surprised at how quickly he had taken to a lot of these people.  He was a social person by nature, but he never developed close friendships with people he’d just met...or known for a while for that matter.  And he certainly didn’t dream about taking a tour of wine country in Napa Valley, holding the hand of…someone.  Someone with dark hair.  And nope.  Like he said, didn’t dream about stuff like that so he wasn’t going to think about it.

“Hey, Charlie,” Dean asked as he was washing his bowl in the sink, “can you show me how to use the Skype thing to call my brother?”

“Yeah, it’s super easy.  I’ll show you.”

The program was always left running and always logged in with the show and season as the user name.  Charlie showed him how to look for his brother’s handle, and then add him as a contact.

“Now whenever you come on, you just find his name in the contacts list, and if his little bubble thingie is green, he’s online and available to talk.”

“Thanks.  You’re awesome.”

Charlie lifted her shoulders and tilted her head in a cutesy Little Miss Perfect way.  “I know.”

Dean chuckled and she smiled back at him.

“And hey,” she said, “let me know if you ever need some real computer help.  I know my way around a code or two.”

Dean raised an eyebrow.  “Alright.  I’ll keep that in mind.”

She waved and left to give him some privacy.  He clicked the button that called Sam and in a matter of moments his brother was on the screen, grinning like an idiot.

“Hey, Dean!  How’s it going?”

“Pretty good.  I think I just made friends with a criminal mastermind hacker.”

Sam opened his mouth to speak then closed it.  He gave a little nod of his head and shrugged his lips.  “Yeah, okay.  I believe it.  You do draw the strangest people to you.”

“Uh, no, dude.  Your friends are just all so boring that other people in comparison seem amazing.”

“Shut-up.  So, have you started the competition yet?”

“Yep.  Had our first Warm Up and Elimination challenges.

“So how did you do?  Oh, well, you’re still there so I guess you did okay, huh?”

“Ah, well, since we have to stay the for the duration of the competition regardless, we’re not supposed to reveal even to family how we’re doing, but seeing as how they made you guys sign non-disclosures too, I’m going to assume that I can talk about it a little.”

“So…how’d it go?”

“Well, the Warm Up wasn’t too great, but…”

“Yeah?  Come on!”

“I won the first challenge,” Dean said, grinning.

“No shit.  Seriously?”

“You don’t have to be **that** surprised, Sammy.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean…I know you’re amazing, Dean.  I’m glad you won.  What was the challenge?”

“Well, that I can’t talk about.  But, it was in my wheelhouse.”

“Burgers?” Sam guessed with a laugh.

Dean shrugged.

“Oh!  So that means you got to pick a prize from the silverware tree?”

“You're such a nerd.  I can’t believe you watch this show so much.”

“Shut-up.  You’re **on** it.  What’d you win?”

“One second, let me go get the card.”

Dean got up from the desk and ran to the back of the condo.  Several people were in the living room griping about the lack of TV and a few were on the balcony enjoying the weather and the view.  In his room, Dean rummaged through his bag looking for the silvery envelope and card he’d received last night.  Then he dug around in his discarded clothes.  He checked through the sheets and found nothing.  He tried to remember what he had done with it last night—they came home from dinner and…Dean left his room and walked into the kitchen.  He found the envelope where he’d left it on the end of the one of the counters.  He quickly walked around the kitchen and to the alcove where the laptop had been set up.  He stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of Tracy.

She was wearing cut off daisy dukes (and her legs were fucking flawless) and a blue plaid shirt with the sleeves cut out and the shirttails tied up above her midriff.  Dean was a man who liked women and he could not deny that she was ball-bustingly hot, but he felt a little like a creeper perv if he allowed his thoughts to stray too far in that direction because she was just so much younger than him.  He pulled his eyes off her ass as he finally realized she was talking to his brother, and she did not sound happy.

“And just to reiterate, even if that was the case, it’s not how you start a conversation.”

Dean stepped closer to look over Tracy’s shoulder; his brother looked mortified as he took his verbal lashing.

“Don’t think just because you’re a privileged white male with gorgeous fucking hair that you can get away with that kind of denseness.”

“Uh, you’re right.  I am very sorry.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Hey, Tracy,” Dean spoke up.

Tracy turned and her displeased expression didn’t soften when she saw him.  “You know this douche?” she asked, hooking her thumb over her shoulder at the screen.

“I do.  That douche is my brother, Sam.  Sam, meet Tracy.”

“Hi, Tracy.”

Tracy rolled her eyes and walked away.  Dean looked after her and then turned back to the laptop and sat down in the chair.

“What the hell was that all about?” Dean asked.

Sam put a hand on his face and groaned softly.  “It was so stupid.  I saw her come in and it looked like she was picking something up or something and I said hi.  And then.  I may have—inadvertently—implied that she was…the help.”

“Jesus Christ, Sam.”

“I know!  I’m sorry.  I swear it had nothing to do with her race.  She was cleaning up the area!”

“And you thought she was a maid in short shorts and a cutoff top?”

“It’s Miami!  I don’t know!”

“Well, your magical touch with the ladies appears to still be intact.”

“Bite me, Dean.”

Dean spent fifteen more minutes talking to his brother before he was kicked off by Jody who had arranged a time to talk to her son.  Dean didn’t mind signing off; he loved his brother but when he started talking about his students he could go on and on and on about people and competitions and things that Dean had very little interest in.

As he exited the alcove, the front door opened and Dean had to step back to avoid being hit by it.  Cas was on the other side wearing a T-shirt and shorts damp with sweat, and pulling ear buds from his ears.  He stopped immediately when he saw Dean.

“Oh, hello, Dean.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you.”

“You didn’t.  So, been out for a run?”

“Yes.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment.

“Did you use the treadmill in the exercise room downstairs?’ Dean asked.

“No.  I went for a jog along the beach.”

Dean glanced down at Cas’ feet and noticed he was wearing flip-flops and not running shoes.  His eyes traveled up and he noticed exactly how powerful Cas’ calves and thighs were that he could run in sand.  Then he noticed how his hands would fit perfectly on the inside of those thighs and how he could push them apart as he moved between them—

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean yanked his eyes up.  Cas was smiling, but there was a faint reddening of his cheeks underneath his tanned skin.

“I asked if anyone from the show has stopped by.”

“Oh, no.  Not that I know of.  I’ve only been up for less than an hour though.”

“I see.  Well, I’m sweaty.”  Their eyes met.  “I should go see if the shower is free.”

“Yeah.  Sounds good.  Have fun,” he called out as Cas started to walk away.

Cas glanced back over his shoulder and Dean closed his eyes in embarrassment.  He followed Cas into the living room and picked up on the tail end of the conversation Cas was having with Benny; apparently Zachariah was in the bathroom and had indicated it would be occupied for a while as he taken a copy of the morning paper with him.  Cas sighed and stretched, his T-shirt riding up and revealing his taut abdomen and those goddamn hip bones again.  Even with that distraction, Dean noticed that Meg, Aaron, and Tracy all noticed too.

“Well,” Cas said, “I don’t want to get any furniture dirty, so I guess I’ll wait out on the balcony.  Can someone let me know when he’s out?”

“Will do, angel cakes,” Meg drawled.

Cas gave her an amused smile and then made his way out onto the balcony.  Dean went into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee.  Then he poured a second cup.  Now who was this for?  He decided he didn’t need to answer his snarky inner voice as he walked out onto the balcony.  Kevin, Charlie, and Garth were lying on chaise lounges, basically covered from head to toe to keep their pale skin from burning, and Garth had a white patch of sunscreen on his nose.  He didn’t see Cas, which was a little disconcerting seeing as how he was standing on a balcony on the twentieth floor.  Then he walked past the trio, receiving no acknowledgement of his presence so he assumed all three were snoozing behind their sunglasses, and turned the corner to the wrapped around section.  This side was much smaller and didn’t have any windows behind it effectively creating a little hideaway from the rest of the condo.

He found Cas leaning back in a chaise lounge with his legs parted on either side of it, feet planted on the ground.  There was a patch of sunlight that was warming his face and he had his ear buds back in.  Dean took advantage of the situation and spread his legs to waddle walk up the chaise lounge and then plopped down right in front of the man.  He startled up, yanking the ear buds from his ears in alarm, and then sighed in annoyed relief when he saw Dean.  He leaned back against the partially reclined chaise and Dean could hear rock music spilling from the ear phones.

“You scared the crap out of me, Dean.”

“Sorry,” he replied, completely unapologetic.  “You like coffee?”

Cas turned his mp3 player off and sat up, taking a mug from Dean’s hand.  Then he seemed to become aware of how close they were sitting and the position they were in.  He feigned nonchalance and took a sip from his cup.

“It’s not bad.”

“Benny said he made it,” Dean supplied.

And then they seemed to run out of conversation and Dean was starting to feel more than a little awkward.  He scooted back and then stood up so he could get his legs on one side of the chaise.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Cas asked quickly.

“Nah.  Not if you don’t mind the company.”

“I don’t.”

Dean sat back down like a normal person this time, but kept a fair distance from Cas and his still spread legs.  He tried not to look at his crotch, failed, and then looked up at his face.  Cas’ mouth was hidden from him as he took another sip of his coffee, but Dean could tell from the crinkles around his amused ocean blue eyes that he was smiling.

Cas opened his mouth to speak, but then his eyes flicked over Dean’s shoulder.  “So, do you think the second challenge will be easier or harder to do since we’ve already been through one?”

Dean tilted his head at the question, and then turned and looked over his shoulder.  A cameraman was standing at the corner of the balcony, capturing everything.  He faced Cas again and shrugged.

“I don’t know.  But I’m actually excited for this thing now.”

“Easy for you to say—you won the first challenge.”

“Yeah, but technically, you won the very first challenge.”

“Well, I hope we can make it a pattern.”

Dean laughed.  “Me too.”

***

“Hello, chefs,” Bela said with a sly smile.  “How is everyone this week?”

Dean was confused for a moment as this was still the first week of competition, but then he remembered what Aaron had told him about the condensed filming and how they were making it seem like it was  spread over a full eleven weeks.

“Ready for your second challenge?”

The replies were all to the affirmative and most of them sounded excited and rarin’ to go.

“Fantastic.  We have a very special guest judge this week.”

Bela didn’t announce a name, but turned toward the stage doors.  A figure pushed the double doors open and strode through with great purpose.  Dean wasn’t terribly familiar with all the celebrity chefs out there, but he recognized this one and felt a knot start in his stomach.  From the looks on his fellow contestants’ faces, they were feeling much the same.  But they all forced smiles and clapped as Gordon Ramsay stood beside Bela with a smirk on his face and crossed his arms.

 Our guest judge is Gordon Ramsay.  Someone’s going to cry.  I hope it’s not me.  It’ll probably be me.

 I cannot even explain how excited I am right now.  Gordon Ramsay is the reason I ditched Harvard and went to culinary school.  I am freaking out right now.

“Well, it looks like our guest judge this week needs no introduction,” Bela said.

“But I’d like one anyway,” Gordon quipped.

Everyone laughed because Dean guessed they were supposed to.

“Mr. Gordon Ramsay is here this week for a very special Elimination Challenge, which we’ll talk about later.  But first, the Warm Up Challenge.  Gordon?”

“One of the hallmarks of a truly great chef is one that can get an amazing burst of flavors from one single bite.  So, that’s your challenge today, chefs, to make a complex and layered flavor profile that all comes in one bite.”

The chefs murmured excitedly.  It was a pretty interesting challenge.

“However, there’s one small addendum,” Gordon said with a calculating smile.

Everyone tensed.

“Most of the time you’re serving just a single bite of food at a time, you don’t have access to spoons or forks to serve them on.  So, your challenge is to put that single bite,” Gordon paused and pulled something out of his pocket and held it up for the chefs to see, “on a toothpick.”

 Toothpicks?  Are we making these amazing bites for a seventies cocktail party?

 Well, there’s goes my plan to make soup.

“All right, chefs,” Bela said, “we’re giving you thirty minutes for this challenge.  And your time starts now!”

Dean bee-lined around his fellow scampering chefs for the pasta.  He grabbed a box of elbow macaroni and then raided the fridge for cheddar, gouda, heavy cream, butter, and a slab of Virginia ham.  He dropped those off at his station and then returned to the pantry for flour and cilantro.  His plan to make a baked cube of macaroni and cheese was only possible because two large pots of water were set to boil before the challenge began so that the chefs could have access to boiling water without having to wait for it.  Well, that and they had access to premade pasta.  Some chefs would sneer at the idea of not making their own pasta fresh, but mac n’ cheese didn’t need fresh noodles.

Dean dipped a small pot into the boiling water and set it down on the stove top, the flame hissing and jumping when it came into contact with the water on the outside.  He left to grab a small baking dish and by the time he returned with the opened box of macaroni the water was at a roiling boil.  He salted the water, dumped the pasta in, and gave it a quick stir to break the sticking noodles apart.  At his station he diced the cheddar and gouda into tiny, easy to melt cubes, and then did a fine dice on the ham as well.  He ran his knife through a bit of the cilantro and then dashed back to his pot with a colander.  After a quick, tongue burning check to make sure the macaroni was not quite al dente yet, he dumped the noodles into the colander and swore as some of the hot water splashed onto his hand.

“You okay?” Charlie asked next to him as she rapidly peeled and washed a mango next to him at the sink.

“Yep, I’m fine.  How you doing?”

“Visiting the tropics.”

Dean grinned at her and then returned to the stove, setting the pasta aside and adding the butter, heavy cream, and flour to make a roux; he would need the thickness to hold it all together when it baked so he’d be able to cut it out and stick it on a toothpick.  He added the pasta back in, got it coated in the roux, and then added the cheeses which fortunately began melting almost immediately.  He decided not to add salt since the ham was so salty, but cracked a little pepper into it just for a little kick.  Last he added in the ham and just a bit of the cilantro.  Then he packed the mixture into the small baking dish and grated some of the gouda and cheddar on top.  It went into the oven at four hundred and fifty degrees, which was a little high, but he didn’t want to get down to the last minute and realize it was undercooked and falling apart.

As he waited anxiously, watching the clock tick down, he ate the left over mac n’ cheese in the pot.  It was fuckin’ awesome.  With three minutes to spare, Dean pulled the baking dish out of the oven and popped it into the blast chiller.  He tried not to bounce on his feet like a freak as he let the clock count down for a full minute to allow the dish to solidify a little bit before he attempted to cut into it.  He dashed back to his station and began cutting squares out of the dish, hoping that he hadn’t let them get too cold.  The squares popped out still steaming, but held their shape.  Dean breathed out a sigh of relief and speared the two best looking ones with toothpicks and set them on his serving plate.

“Five, four, three, two, one, time’s up!  Tools down!”

Dean was taken aback when he realized how close he had come to the wire.  He wiped the sweat off his brow and stepped back out of the way as the PAs came in and cleared off the stations of everything but the serving plates.  Again, they were freakily efficient and Gordon and Bela were making their way down the line within a couple of minutes.

“What is this?” Gordon asked as he tasted Aaron’s bite.  “There’s hardly any flavor.  All I’m getting is a vague sense of grease and fat.”

 It was wrapped in a *beep*-ing piece of prosciutto.  There **was no grease**.

“This is falling apart.  I’m not even going to try it.”

 See?  Told you I was going to cry.

“Wow.  The heat in this is quite strong.  Almost overpowering.”

“Thank you, Chef,” Tracy said.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“This is a good use of crayfish meat.  The flavors are little predictable though.  I’ve had this bite before.”

 Just because you’ve had something like it before, don’t mean it’s not great.

“Oh, always with the truffle oil.  This is just terrible; it’s too strong.”

 Someone with a more distinguished palate would have understood the delicacy and intricacy of what I made.

“It’s a bit muddled, this one.  I’m not sure what I’m tasting.  And the meatball itself is a bit dry.”

“I’m not sure I’ve put anything like this in my mouth before.”

“Mm.  This is quite tasty,” Bela said as she tried Dean’s bite.  “Amazing.  That’s clever to get macaroni and cheese in toothpick format.”

Dean smiled and looked at Gordon.  He shrugged his head back and forth noncommittally.

“It is tasty, but it’s starch and cheese.  Everyone likes that.  It’s almost cheating.”

Dean scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

“What is that—I’m getting a hint of some sharp flavor.”

“Cilantro,” Dean said flatly.

“Interesting,” he said and moved on.

 *cough*jackass*cough*

“Now this has quite a punch to it.  There’s definitely richness and acidity—it’s a little odd but not necessarily in a bad way.”

Meg smiled.

“Though a little in a bad way.”

“Mm, good play on a chicken satay.  That dish has the potential to be quit boring, but the depth in your curry is fantastic.”

“Thank you, Chef,” Kevin said practically vibrating with his excitement.

 Gordon Ramsay likes my food!

“Well, this certainly has been the better end of the line.  I hope you don’t break the pattern,” Gordon said to Castiel as he picked up his bite.  “Hm.  Not bad.  Tasty, but forgettable.”

 Those flavors are the ones I’m known for at my restaurant.  The reason people travel from across the country just to try it again.  But, yeah, I can see how it’s forgettable.

“Wow.  That is quite tart,” Gordon said.

“Yes, but I like it,” Bela said.  “It’s got zing.”

“It does have zing.  That’s a good word for it.”

 What does that mean?

“Thank you, chefs,” Bela said when they returned to their positions at the front of the room.  “Those were truly some of the best bites I’ve ever had on this show.  But, there’s got to be a bottom three unfortunately.  Gordon?”

“Jody, you utterly failed in the challenge as I was unable to eat the bite with a toothpick.  Aaron, the grease flavor was just very displeasing.”

 There was no *beep*-ing grease.

“Garth—I’m not sure what that was, but I’m quite certain I would never want to eat it again.”

“And your top three?” Bela asked.

“Kevin, you essentially just made chicken with curry, but the flavors you achieved in that curry were some of the best I’ve ever had.  Well done.  Charlie, I liked that you went sweet instead of savory with the fruit, and the tartness was a bit of the kick in the head.  And I’m going to stop at those two as they were the only stand out ones.”

The chefs all shifted on their feet and ran their tongues along their teeth, but kept quiet.

“Okay, Gordon, who is the winner?”

“I think it’s pretty plain: Kevin.”

“Congratulations, Kevin.  You’ve earned immunity in tomorrow’s Elimination Challenge.”

All the chefs clapped, a little more genuinely than they had before because Kevin was well liked among them all.

“Now, before we tell you about the Elimination Challenge, allow me to introduce you to two more guests."  The doors opened and two of the most fabulous drag queens Dean had ever seen in his life sashayed into the room.

   

"Chefs," Gordon said, "I'd like you to meet a couple of friends of mine.  This is Divine Intervention and Charlemagne Leer."

"Hello, chefs!" the pink one said.

"Hello," they chorused back.

"Divine and Charlemagne work at fantastic review club on the strip called Purgatory's Bakery.  They're going to be having a private party there for two hundred guests.  There will be mingling before the—let's say show—they're going to put on.  So, they will need some appetizers.  Appetizers that are sophisticated but still easily eaten while standing.  Hint, hint," Gordon said, leaning forward slightly.  The chefs chuckled to acknowledge they knew they were making more toothpick ready appetizers.  "There's another part to this challenge though.  I'd also like you to meet Gordon Walker and Victor Henriksen."

The chefs waited, but no one else came out.  Then Divine and Charlemagne waved at them.

"Gordon and Victor not only work at Purgatory's Bakery, they also own the establishment.  And they have recently returned from a trip to the nation's capitol where they were legally married."

Everyone "oh-ed" in pleased surprise and clapped for the happy couple.

"So, this party you'll be catering won't just be any party, it will be a wedding reception.  With a sit down dinner.  Signature cocktails, one for each of the grooms, and yes, a wedding cake."

The chefs all hissed in a quiet, worried breath at this piece of information.

"One other thing, this shindig, is tomorrow night."

 We have to cater a wedding reception, for two hundred people, with just over twenty-four hours notice.

 It can't be done.

"Well, chefs," Bela said with that little smirk on her face.  "You have your work cut out for you.  You'll have ten minutes to consult with your clients, and then thirty to plan your menu.  After that we'll go shopping and you'll have a budget of thirty dollars a head.  When we return to the kitchen you'll have a couple of hours to prep what you can here in the America's Next Top Chef kitchen, but all cooking will be done on site at Purgatory's Bakery's kitchen.  Alright, I'll leave you to it."

Ramsay and Bela left the kitchen and the chefs were provided with paper and pens as they gathered around the end of one of the counters so that they could all hear what Gordon and Victor had in mind.  Dean hung towards the back and figured he might be able to coast on his macaroni and cheese appetizers as soon as Victor mentioned that mac 'n cheese was one of his favorites but Gordon had said they absolutely were not going to have that served alongside prime rib, which was apparently what they wanted for an entree.  They were fine with there being only one entree option; if their friends and family didn't eat red meat then they could starve.  Dean was almost certain he'd found a couple of kindred spirits in these two men.

The ten minute consult was over much too quickly and they all waved nicely and politely goodbye, but once the planning session started the claws came out.  There was a spirited discussion over who would be responsible for the main course and the side dishes.  Dean, Kevin, and Charlie were pretty much relegated to appetizer duty with Garth as an extra pair of hands.  Cas, Jody, Aaron, and Benny picked up the side dishes and Meg and Tracy were going to handle the signature cocktails.  Zachariah and Rufus fought over who would be handling the steaks with Zachariah winning.  And unfortunately by the time they resolved that squabble, everything was assigned except for the cake.

"You do have some baking experience, right?" Jody asked Rufus.

The man shrugged.  "I can follow a recipe."

"Well, we'll be able to pitch in and help."

Everyone murmured that they would be willing to help, but Dean had a bad feeling about the whole situation.  Bela never returned, but the producers got them after their thirty minutes were up and they all piled into the minivans for their trip to Super Foods.  There was another bout of speed shopping followed by one of the most embarrassing attempts at math by a group of seven adults Dean had ever been forced to witness.  Fortunately Kevin found them before they screwed Dean out of his need for both gouda and cheddar and the human calculator was able to save his dish.

When they got back to the studio, there was excitement for maybe the first half hour, but as the night wore on tempers flared and, ironically, hunger made them cranky and snappish.  Once they finally had everything packed in coolers and rolling trays—everything they needed triple checked by a system designed by Kevin—they had to make the trip down to the strip and unload everything into the review club's kitchen.  By the time they got back to their condo it was past nine o'clock and they had been working for over twelve hours.  Even still they took the time to cook a meal and sit down in the dining room together to discuss their game plan.  The wedding cake underwent another round of debate as the side that felt boxed cake mix was good enough for the task were being pressured by those that felt it had to be made from scratch.

Dean had a headache by the time dinner ended and volunteered to take care of the dishes so that maybe he could get some alone time while the rest of the group still discussed tomorrow's event.  When Cas silently joined him and started drying dishes, he gave him a smile, but they remained silent until the last dish was dry and put away.  Also by that time the others had begun their bedtime rituals and there was a line for the bathroom.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?" he asked, turning to Cas, pleasantly surprised to find that his headache had dissipated.

Cas was holding up a remaining half bottle of wine left over from dinner and nodded toward the balcony.  "You want to wait outside until everyone is finished?"

Dean gave him a playful glare as he opened the cabinet and got out two wine glasses.  "You could have mentioned your plan **before** I washed our wine glasses."

Cas shrugged and walked out to the balcony.  Dean followed with the glasses and tried to ignore the four pairs of eyes that watched them from the living room.  Cas walked down the length of the balcony and disappeared into the secluded corner.  Dean followed.  Cas sat cross-legged on the only chaise lounge and leaned against the inclined back.  Dean sat sideways next to his legs and leaned against the balcony wall.  He watched Cas fill the glasses to an appropriate level, and then just waved his hand to indicate that he should just go ahead and empty the bottle.  The glasses were well over half full; it was all quite uncouth.  They smirked at each other and clinked glasses before taking healthy swallows.

Dean exhaled and looked up.  The city was much too bright to see any stars overhead, but the ocean was a constant presence in their ears—a reminder that humans had not overtaken everything just yet.

"Hey, Cas?"

"Yes, Dean."

"When I walked by one of the confessional rooms earlier today, I heard you talking about your restaurant."  He turned his head to look at him.  "Do you own your own place?"

"Mm-hmm.  Salvation in St. Cloud, Minnesota."

"Salvation, huh?  Ballsy."

Cas chuckled.  "It's just a small twenty table place right now.  That's part of why I want to win this competition.  I could use the money to expand and hire a sous chef."

"How'd you get the capital to get started?  If you don't mind my asking."

"I don't mind.  My family helped me out."

"Trust fund baby?" Dean drawled with what he knew was an obnoxious smile.

Cas nudged him with his foot.  "No.  Well, not exactly.  I just—I come from a family with money because they **earn** money.  I'm not sure I could adequately express how different I am from my family.  They're all lawyers and bankers and investment brokers—and I—I dropped out of law school to open a restaurant."

Dean could feel the gentle smile on his face and could do nothing about it.  "You should meet my brother.  You two would probably hit it off."

Cas took another sip of his wine.  "You would **not** hit it off with **my** brothers.  No one does.  I mean, they're not dicks, well, not complete dicks.  They were willing to help me with my venture.  And you know, as different from them that I am, I'm still quite similar in my need for...control and order."

"Hm.  I guess your hair didn't get the memo."

"Wh—?!  Shut-up."

Dean laughed as Cas shoved him playfully in the shoulder.  Dean leaned his head back against the wall again and looked at Cas.  He was twisting his wine glass in his fingers by the stem, watching the wine swish around.  Then he looked up at him from under his lashes, and if Dean had been in a slightly more accessible position he would have leaned in and kissed him.

"What about you?" Cas asked, sitting back, his tone suddenly more casual and less intimate.  Dean turned his head just enough to catch sight of the cameraman standing at the corner of the balcony.  He let out a huff of laughter; he was going to have to pay one of them off or something.

"I live in Kingsville, Texas."

"Do you live like royalty?" Cas asked with something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

"Not exactly.  Are you drunk?"

"Definitely buzzed."

"Kind of a lightweight there aren't you?"

"This has got to be like, my fourth or fifth glass of wine."

"Seriously?"

"Meg was playing footsy with me under the dinner table.  All I could think to do was drink."

"You could have told her to stop."

"I didn't want to be rude."

"Dude—Never mind.  If she does it again let me know and I'll take care of it."

"How will I let you know?"

"Code word."

Cas definitely giggled this time.  "What's the secret word?" he whispered.

Dean thought a moment.  "Impala."

"Impala?"

"Yup."

"Okay.  Next time I need rescuing, I'll turn to you, Dean Winchester."

Cas dissolved into a fit of giggles and even though Dean knew Cas had said it as a joke, it made him blush.

***

"Look ouuuuuuuuuuuut!" a desperate voice screamed in panicked terror.

 Service...did not go well.

 It was like...there was an evil spirit in the kitchen.

 If it could go wrong, it did.

 If it could fall off a plate, it hit the floor.

 If it could catch fire, it burned.

 I started drinking around the time the cake took an alternate route to the display table via one of the groom's laps.

 I would never compare something like a cooking competition to a war zone...

 It was like being in *beep*-ing Nam.

 It was all just so...disorderly.

 On the plus side, I caught the bouquet.

***

"I have never been so embarrassed in my life," Gordon Ramsay yelled at the cringing pack of chefs in the judging room.  "And I routinely have amateur chefs serve food at a restaurant with my name on it!"

"What on Earth happened in there?" Gabriel asked, dismayed.

"At least we can be thankful that most of the disaster took place in the kitchen," Naomi said icily.  "Victor and Gordon both said they and their guests had a great time at their party and they were very gracious to say so."

"Disgraceful," Crowley said.  "When I joined this show I was expecting a high level of professionalism."

Dean gnashed his teeth together as he listened to the judges trash them.  It hadn't been—okay, it **had** been that bad.  But as Naomi had pointed out, it had all mostly been behind the scenes.  The food that went out had some issues here and there, but it all tasted good.  Except for maybe some mushy vegetables that no one was quite sure whose fault that was since the four people in charge of the sides all thought somebody else was watching them steam.  Okay, there had been the cake incident, but that had hardly been their fault—there had been a lot of furred appendages and feathered boas to dodge.  And okay, so they'd set a small fire in the kitchen, but there hadn't been any real damage.  The show was insured and would be able to pay Victor and Gordon for the repairs.

Bela stood up with her canister of spatulas.  He had a feeling no one would be laughing at the ritual tonight.

"Chefs, I hold in my hands eleven spatulas.  These spatulas represent the eleven contestants still in the running to becoming America's Next Top Chef.  Tonight—there is no winner."

A barely there murmur of noise rippled through the contestants, but no one seemed all that surprised by the decision.

"The chef whose name I do not call must immediately return to the kitchen, back up your knives, and go.  The first two names I'm going to call are the ones who had their station under the most control and produced two crowd favorites.  Tracy and Meg—Victor and Gordon loved their signature cocktails and would like to add them to their menu."

Tracy and Meg stepped forward to collect their spatulas, but didn't celebrate at the news any more than a smile and a thank you.  They stepped to the right and the rest of the contestants were called in seeming random order until Dean realized the appetizer chefs were all called at once, followed by Zachariah, and then Cas who had produced a very tasty side dish of twice baked potatoes, and Benny who had made the hollandaise for the vegetables and the au jus and horseradish sauce for the prime rib.  The horseradish sauce in particular had been excellent and when paired with Zachariah's herb crusted prime rib had been one of the best steaks Dean had ever had in his life.  Really, the dinner part of the party had been a huge freaking success.  He suspected there was so much drama in the judging just to make drama for television.  And okay, yeah, fire.  And a four tiered cake landing upside down on a very expensive crystal encrusted evening gown.

"Will Aaron and Rufus please step forward.  Aaron, we're having a hard time figuring out what we should judge you on and no one thing could be attributed to you.  Rufus, we didn't get to sample the cake, but even if it had tasted amazing, you would still be in the bottom two for using boxed cake mix.  We expect the chefs of America's Next Top Chef to be accomplished in all disciplines of cooking—that's what makes this competition unique.

"So who stays and who goes?"  Bela flipped over the spatula.  "Aaron."

Aaron let out the breath he had been holding and gave Rufus a pat on the back.  The man didn't respond and Aaron stepped forward to collect his spatula.

"I'm sorry, Rufus, that means you're out.  Please return to the kitchen and pack up your knives."

Rufus turned to the other contestants and gave them a little salute and then walked out of the room.  Naomi stood up from the judges' table looking very imperious.

"Let this be a lesson, chefs.  We have very high expectations of you.  And not only will we not award a winner if we feel no one deserves it, we will also eliminate more than one contestant if these high standards aren't met.  Do we understand each other?"

The chefs muttered to the affirmative and the director yelled cut.  Several jumped at the sudden reminder they were being filmed.

"Well," Bela said with a toss of her hair, "that will probably be one of our highest rated episodes.  I can't wait to see the final cut."

 I don't think the judges made the wrong call.  I half-assed the cake because I didn't want to make it.  I should have taken more pride in my work.  And, well, this is the result.

***

The dinner provided by the show was distinctly bereft of alcohol, so the group was forced to pillage the refrigerator and wine racks as soon as they got home.  There was no note from Rufus and everyone wondered how Sarah and Rufus would enjoy their awkward one on one time together.

They all had another day off the next day, so no one felt the need to go to bed early or cut themselves off.  After a while, Dean noticed Benny was missing.  He excused himself to use the bathroom, and after pissing out three beers and half a bottle of wine, stopped by their bedroom to see if he was in there.  He found the man sitting in bed and reading.

"Hey, Benny."

"Hey, brother.  Party still going strong out there?"

"Yep.  Well, maybe starting to wind down now.  Are you feeling okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine.  I just...today was a pretty rough day and there is just too much temptation out there."

Dean's fuzzy brain tried to piece that together.  "Oh.  Are you...?"

"Coming up on my seventh year of sobriety in a coupla months."

"Oh, wow.  That's great.  But, oh man, we've all been such assholes!  Shoving it in your face every night."

"Naw, it's fine.  I'm normally not tempted at all.  You guys have a few beers or wine with dinner, that's nothing.  It's just when I feel down, like after tonight's judging, it makes me a little more susceptible to my old ways."

Dean heard someone shouting his name from the living room.  He ignored it.  "Well, hey, if you ever need us to clear the room, let us know.  Or just me.  Or if you need to talk through it.  My brother...Well, he had a phase in high school so I know a little bit about...some things."

"Thank you, Dean."

Someone shouted his name louder.

"You better get back there and make sure Garth isn't trying to tight rope walk on the balcony railing."

Dan laughed, and then became concerned as he realized that was a real possibility.  He turned and nearly collided with a cameraman that had been standing behind him.  Sneaky little fuckers.  There really was zero privacy in this place.  He jogged back into the living room and saw everyone crammed onto the two couches , which was quite a feat for nine people.  There was a chorus of "Deeeaannn!" as they caught sight of him.

"What is going on out here?"

"Cas says that you are an expert on gazelles," Aaron slurred.  "I would like to know in what way.  Do you cook them?"

"You can't cook gazelles," Tracy said.  "Aren't they, like, endangered species?"

"I have no idea," Dean said.  "I know nothing about gazelles."

"Yes, you do," Cas said indignantly.  Dean looked at him where he was crammed into a corner of the couch and Meg was half in his lap with one hand running through his hair.  "Remember, you said you knew all about those animals on the African savannahs.  _Gazelles_."

Dean bit his lip to keep his smile in check.  "Do you mean impalas, Cas?"

"Impalas!  Yes, fucking impalas, Dean."

Dean laughed and walked over to the couch.  He got an arm under Cas and hauled him over the side, dumping Meg onto the cushion.

"Hey, what gives?" she griped.

"Cas and I need to have a discussion about impalas," Dean said.

"Is that a euphemism for sex?" Charlie asked, looking like she was half asleep as she leaned on Tracy.

"They would have the sex?" Jody asked.

"They're gay?" Kevin asked, blinkingly rapidly.  "I never would have guessed."

"Well, not Dean anyway," Zachariah said with a smirk.  "Cas on the other hand..."  He waffled his hand in the air.

"I," Cas said struggling to concentrate on his words, "am pansexual."

"You shouldn't have sex with pans," Garth said.  "It won't end well."

Cas just blinked at him, and Dean hauled him out of the room and toward their bedroom.  Cas leaned heavily on him as they made their way down the hall.  Had they been a tad less drunk he might have taken them out to their spot on the balcony and let nature run its course, but they were both a little too smashed to handle anything too physically taxing.

"I was calling gazelle like a dozen times," Cas mumbled.  "Where were you?"

"I had to take a leak, and then I checked on Benny.  And by the way," Dean said, closing the bedroom door on the camera, "it's Impala like the car, not a freakin' African deer."

"What's not an African deer?" Benny asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Nothing.  Sorry, we don't want to disturb you."

"It's y'all's room too."

Dean led Cas to his bed and helped him climb on top of the covers.  "What's the difference?" he murmured.  "Gazelles and impalas.  And dik-diks."  He giggled.

"I'll show you," Dean said.  He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and sat down on the bed next to Cas.  He flipped open the worn leather and pulled a couple of pictures out of one of the credit card slots.  He paused as he looked at a picture of himself and his mother when he was four years old.  It was faded and frayed around the edges, but she still looked perfect and beautiful.

"Who's zat?" Cas asked, hooking his chin on Dean's shoulder.

"That is a discussion for another day.  Maybe when we're sober.  This..." he swapped photos and revealed a picture of him and Sam standing in front of a sleek black car.  "This is an Imapla.  A '67 four door hardtop to be exact.  She's my baby."

"Hm.  Must be one of those cases of something only a mother could love."

"You shut your mouth.  She's beautiful.  Trust me.  You take a ride in her, listen to her growl, feel the wind in your face when you roll down the empty highway..."

"Hm.  That does sound nice."

"Nothing's better."

"Nothing?"

"Well, sex in the backseat is pretty awesome."

"Yeah?  You'll have to show me one day."

"Yeahhh."

All three occupants in the room went still as they let that exchange sink in.

Benny closed his book.  "Well, I'm going to go brush my teeth."

"I think I'm going to head over to my own bed," Dean said.

"And I'm going to pass out and hope I don't remember too much of today tomorrow," Cas groaned.


	4. Round 3

Dean came to consciousness slowly through the sensation that his head was pounding like the bassline of a bad house techno remix, his mouth tasted and felt like something had died, reanimated, and then zombie-ate itself, and his bladder was about one and a half minutes from just giving up and letting it all go—dignity be damned.  He'd woken up to worse before.

He sat up and a loud groan filled the room.  It took him a moment to realize that he hadn't been the one to make the death knell.  He squinted his eyes open against the bright Miami morning light and saw the bundle of shifting blankets that was Cas.  He moved to go check on him, but that reminded him he needed to make a trip to the little boys' room immediately or he would have a nationally aired humiliation that would prevent him from ever getting a date again.

He heard some shuffling in the kitchen on his way to the bathroom, but otherwise the condo was still and quiet.  He had no idea what time it was but he was certain it was too early for anyone with a hangover to be awake.  He wondered not for the first time what exactly Meg had put in those "Megtinis."

When he returned to his room he found Benny coaxing Cas out of his nest of blankets.  He nodded to the table next to Dean's bed.

"Take a few swallows of that, brother."

Dean looked at the glass of thick, red liquid.  It looked like a Bloody Mary.  Dean had never put much stock in the "hair of the dog" remedy to hangovers, but he was willing to try anything at this point.  He took a whiff of the contents, immediately regretted it, and just sighed in resignation before he downed half of it.

"Oh God," he gagged.

"What have you—what is in this—I'm going to be—"

Dean turned and saw Cas trying to shove a glass of the red menace back at Benny.  He repressed a heave, and then put his hand on his stomach and turned slightly green.  Dean pulled a face as he suspected he was about to see some major spewage come out of the guy he kind of wanted to get up close and personal with in a tongue touching kind of way.  Before Dean was forced to determine if he could put that image out of his head the next time he flirted with the guy, his color evened out and he went still.  Then Cas waved a hand toward the glass and Benny handed it to him.  He drank down the rest, made a face, and then grunted as he sat back in the bed.  Benny took the glass from him and gave him a pat on the shoulder.  Dean examined his own half-full glass and realized that he was feeling marginally better, so he finished off the rest of the vile mixture.

He sat down on his bed and glanced at Cas who was looking at him through squinty eyes.  He smiled despite the mild throb still pulsing in his grey matter.

"What's the matter, Cas?" he asked.

"I am never drinking another Megtini again in my life."

Benny chuckled and collected Dean's empty glass as well.  "Give those about ten minutes to fully kick in and you should be right as rain."

"I don't want to know what was in it," Dean said, "but how did you come up with that concoction?"

"One of the perks of being an alcoholic," Benny said with a chuckle, "you develop innovative ways to deal with the downsides of being an alcoholic."

He gave Dean a wink as he left the room.  Still smiling, Dean looked back at Cas.  His eyes were still squinty, but it looked more like he was glaring this time.

"What?" he asked, a little defensively.

"You and Benny are good friends."

"Well, we've bonded a little.  We were both in the service."

The glare eased a little.  "You were in the Army?"

"Marines."

"Hm."  A smile pulled at the corner of his lips.  "You still have the uniform?"

Dean laughed and couldn't even attempt a flirtatious answer because Cas just looked too little boy cute with his rumpled pajamas and messy hair.

"That is also a conversation we'll reserve for another day."

Cas scowled and slunk down into the sheets.  "I'm going back to sleep," he mumbled, "let me know if the show decides to pull any surprises on us."

"Okay.  But are you sure you don't want to go for a run?" Dean asked, picturing Cas sweaty and sun-kissed again.

"At this point I'll count myself lucky if I ever walk again."

Dean chuckled and decided to let him wallow.  He dressed in jeans and a Roadhouse T-shirt and went to go see if anybody else was up.  Jody was reading in the living room and Zachariah was cooking breakfast for himself in the kitchen.  It probably was something good, but Dean's stomach was still a little sensitive so he passed by with just a perfunctory nod to the man.  Dean didn't know why, but the guy just made him uneasy.  He was all polite smiles and arrogant smarm, which was unpleasant enough, but just something about him made Dean a little wary.

He found the laptop alcove empty, so he decided to call Sam.  He still hadn't a clue what time it was, but his little brother could get his ass up to talk to him.  He was on summer break from school so it wasn't like he had anything else to do.  Within a minute the screen popped up with Sam's face.  He smiled, and then suddenly looked concerned.

"Whoa, Dean, are you okay?  You look like shit."

"Well, thanks, Sammy, you're not exactly David Beckham yourself."

"N-sorry.  I just meant your eyes are red and you look really tired.  Did something happen in the competition?  I knew you had a thing for David Beckham."

Dean blushed slightly.  _Shit_.  "I don't—nothing terrible happened.  Well, that's not true.  The last challenge was a disaster.  Just wait until the episode airs.  You'll probably laugh your ass off, but for us it was a total clusterfuck.  So we commiserated with a little drinking."

Sam laughed.  "I knew you going on this show would be the best thing that ever happened to me."

Dean scowled at him.  "I'm so happy my humiliation is a source of amusement for you."

Sam shrugged.  "Fourteen years of torment, Dean.  Payback is a bitch."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Oh, look it's Mr. I Didn'tMeanToSterotypeYouButICouldn'tSeeBeyondMyOwnWhitePrivlidge."

Dean looked over his shoulder and saw Tracy standing behind him with a hand on her hip.  He partially hid his smile behind his hand and looked back at Sam.  He looked scared, but also a touch aggravated.

"I said I was sorry!  It was an honest mistake!"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure you've made a lot of 'honest mistakes' in your life.  It's the privilege of all rich, attractive men, right?"

"Okay, one: I am not rich.  And two: that's the second time you've pointed out how attractive I am.  Are you sure you're not just picking fights because you don't know how else to make an excuse to talk to me?"

"Oh, right!  Of course!  I made you insult an entire race of people because I couldn't control my crazy woman hormones?"

"I never said that.  And you're the one who keeps talking to me."

Dean put his arm on the back of his chair and leaned his face against his hand as he watched Sam and Tracy fight-flirt with each other.  It would have been amusing if it wasn't so disgusting.  He let them get out a few more jabs at each other and then he interjected with a waving hand and loud plea for his bleeding ears.

"Hey, Dean," Tracy said.

"Yeah?"

"Next time you see your brother, can you give him this for me?"  She punched his shoulder and walked away.

Dean laughed and then as soon as she was out of view grabbed his shoulder and silently gasped in pain.

"You okay there, Dean?"

"Shut up," Dean groused.  "I hope you appreciate that I'm taking your punishment.  Again."

Sam's face suddenly sobered.  He dropped his eyes and fidgeted.  Dean straightened in his seat and felt like kicking himself.

"Sammy, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean—I didn't mean it like that.  You know that."

Sam nodded.  Then he sat up and brushed his hair back with his hands and cleared his throat.  "Yeah, I know, Dean.  But it doesn't make it any less true."

"It's not, Sam.  That was a long time ago.  It's in the past.  We're both fine.  No long term ill effects, right?  So, no harm no foul."

"Dean, that's not—"

"Enough, Sam.  We can't keep rehashing the past.  Can't we just move on from it?  I have.  Why can't you?"

Sam nodded.  "If that's what you want."

Dean licked his lips and looked at his hands as he rubbed his thumb.  "I just think we're both good now.  We're happy.  So why keep thinking about the bad times?"

"You're right.  You're right, Dean.  I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize.  Look, I gotta get off 'cause you know, other people want to use the computer."

"Yeah, I understand.  Hey, I'm glad you're having fun in the competition...you are, right?"

Dean rolled his eyes.  "Yes, Sam, I am.  You were right.  Happy?"

"Yup!"

"I'll talk to you later, Sam."

"Bye, Dean."

Dean ended the connection and drummed his fingers on the desk.  It bothered him how much guilt Sam carried around with him every day, and how much he pretended like he didn't allow the past to haunt him.  Of course Dean knew he wasn't one to talk—Sam had probably learned that behavior from him.  Dean shook his head and stood up.  He couldn't let himself get distracted right now; he had too much riding on this competition.

More people had managed to make their way out of bed, but everyone looked like they were regretting that decision.  Dean thought maybe a little sunlight and fresh air would help clear out the last of the fog in his brain.  He stepped onto the balcony and inhaled the warm—fishy breeze.  He coughed and wrinkled his nose.

He heard a throaty chuckle behind him and turned to find Meg lying on a chaise lounge—with Cas lying against her, his head resting on her breasts while she massaged his temples.

"I heard on the news the tide brought in a wash of seaweed and a dead school of fish last night.  That's why it smells like that," Meg said.

Dean just stared, not quite sure if what he was feeling was jealousy or disappointment.  He wasn't even sure if Cas was aware that he was there because he was wearing dark sunglasses.

"Still not feeling better, Cas?" Dean asked, a little sharply.

The man grunted, but didn't do anything to distance himself from Meg.

"I told him there's only one surefire way to cure a hangover from a Megtini."

"Using your tits as a pillow?"

"That's part of the process."

"You offer this service to everyone?"

Meg smiled.  "No, I don't."

Dean scowled and faced the beach.  He gripped the railing tight in his hands and then rolled his eyes at himself.  _No distractions_ , he reminded himself.  He turned around.

"I think I'm going to go for a walk on the beach.  You seeing any Impalas, Cas?"

"Not at the moment, Dean, no."

"Alright then."

Dean walked stiffly into the condo, and nearly collided with a cameraman.  Cursing under his breath he grabbed his wallet and sunglasses from his room, and then walked out the door.

***

"Hello, chefs, how are you this morning?" Bela asked.

There was quiet murmuring in response.

"Last week was tough, wasn't it?"

Dean wished they really did film these once a week. If the wedding reception disaster had happened a week ago, they probably would have all gotten to the point where they could laugh about it now.  Or at least not cringe every time they thought about it.  In reality it had happened only two nights ago and they'd all passed by Rufus in the lobby on their way to today's Warm Up Challenge.  No one was feeling particularly confident for what today's challenge might be.

"Well, this is a new week, chefs, and we've got a special guest judge that should perk you right up.  Please help me welcome one of the country's most renowned chefs, known for his infusion of soul and jazz and blues into the themes of his restaurants, Chef Joshua Jardin!"

The double doors opened and a kindly looking, elderly black man entered the room.

Dean was a little surprised.  He hadn't known what he'd been expecting of the man who had created a restaurant where the music was almost as important as the food, but this grandfatherly figure wasn't it.  He remembered the one and only time he'd had a meal in one of Jardin's restaurants; he'd had a barbeque bacon cheeseburger while listening to Robert Johnson share his pain.  The experience ranked higher than some of his sexual encounters.

"Hello, chefs," Joshua greeted them.

"Hello, Chef," the contestants all chorused back respectfully.

"I'm very pleased to be here.  This show is actually a guilty pleasure of mine.  I'm really looking forward to seeing what you all are capable of."

"Now, chefs.  Being able to prepare and season food well is only a part of being a master chef.  A chef must also be able to identify the best ingredients to use to create their masterpieces.  So, for your Warm Up Challenge, we want you all to select the best ingredients to make any dish of your choosing."

The contestants felt a ripple of excitement, but also of nervousness as they glanced at each other.  Bela smirked.

"Now, of course, you didn't think we were going to make it that easy, did you?"

"A lot of times the way ingredients look can be deceptive," Joshua said.  "That's why a good chef has a well developed sense of touch and smell when it comes to selecting ingredients."

Bela **almost** contained her gleeful laughter.  "So, while you have no restrictions on what you can make, you'll only be able to select your ingredients by feel and smell—you will be allowed five minutes to get what you need from the pantry, and you will be blindfolded."

 This is punishment for last week.  I know it.

 You see, for fruits and vegetables, sure it makes sense.  I mean, if you can't tell an apple apart from a potato by feel alone, you should reevaluate your choice of chef as a career.  But the stuff in the refrigerator—a carton of milk feels the same as a carton of heavy cream.  A box of butter could be a box of cream cheese.  And the proteins!  They're just wrapped in brown paper.  How are we supposed to know what we're getting when all we can feel is butcher paper?

 So, I'm thinking of making something with bananas.  It's hard to mistake a banana for anything else.

 I'm afraid of the dark.

As the crew was pulling everything out of the way for the chefs to be able to do their blind scramble through the pantry, PAs began handing out blindfolds.

"Are you serious with this challenge?" Cas asked one of the producers.  "I mean, on paper I'm sure it's hilarious, but in practice it's going to be quite dangerous."

"Well, my advice is to not run," she said as she looked over her clipboard.

"And everyone keep their hands to themselves," Charlie said.

"Why is everyone looking at me?" Meg asked innocently.

"Okay, everyone put the blindfolds on top of your heads.  We'll want to film you putting them on.  Now, take one last look at the pantry, get it in your mind's eye!  Places everyone."

Dean settled the elastic around the back of his head then tested the blindfold quickly over his eyes, seeing if there was any way to cheat just a little bit.  If he set it slightly off center on his nose he'd at least be able to see his toes running about.  He put it back on his forehead and waited while the crew got everything set.  The director called action and Bela gave an excited command to put on the blindfolds.  Then the director called cut.  Everyone waited, wondering why there was a delay, and then someone came over and righted the blindfold on his face, completely blocking his vision.  Apparently the producers had figured out that people might try to cheat— **strategize**.

Once everyone was satisfied that the contestants were in fact utterly blind, cameras were rolling and Bela was giving them the start of the five minutes.  Dean figured that most people would hesitate a little bit, so if he just ran straight out in what he thought was the direction of the proteins refrigerator with his arms out straight he'd probably get there first and not trip over anyone or anything.  The plan worked—only he failed to calculate exactly how much it would hurt ramming his hands into a steel block with a straight arm.  His wrists tweaked back and he shook them out, cursing loudly.  He hoped they would have to censor it rather than be able to edit it out.

He found the handle and pulled the door open.  Behind him he heard people giggling and all matter of items falling to the floor.  He got his hand on one package before he found himself crowded by two other bodies.  And then he felt something between his legs.  He yelped and tried to take a step back, but someone was crouching behind him and reaching between his legs into the fridge.

"What the—!  Who the hell is fondling my balls?!"

The person beside him laughed and he recognized Cas easily.  He nudged the man and he let out a startled sound as he fell to the side.

"Sorry, Dean!" Charlie called out.  "I'm not going for your balls though.  I'm just pretty sure the tuna steaks were on the bottom shelf."

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered and began feeling packages and weighing them in his hand.  He quickly realized it was useless and just chose a package at random.  Charlie stood up, which enabled him to step back without worrying about stepping on her.  He threw a hand out in Cas' direction as he passed and was rewarded with a soft squeak as Cas had turned around as well--so he hadn't slapped him on the ass, but goosed him.  Dean couldn't dwell on that, however, and made his way over to the produce section by feel.  He began to run his hands over everything, trying to remember the way the pantry was set up, and since he had no idea what protein he had, he needed something that would go with red meat, chicken, or seafood.  He found onions and garlic easily enough and picked up a box of pasta—having no clue what kind it might be.

They had been informed that things like salt and pepper and cooking oil would be available to them without the blindfold.  They would be given the opportunity to smell certain herbs and spices later, and if they correctly identified them they could use them.  He did need butter though, which meant another harrowing trip across the pantry.  He walked slowly, listening to the squeaking sneakers of the other contestants and trying to stay out of their way.

"Thirty seconds, chefs!" Bela called out.

Dean picked up the pace and ran into a person and an appliance.  Based on the nasally cursing that accompanied the collision he assumed he'd run into Zachariah.  He got the fridge open and felt around on the door shelves for butter while Zachariah shoved him to the side and dug around in the middle.

"Ten seconds!"

Dean wrapped his hand around a box and turned and sprinted back toward the stations.  A hand grabbed him and slowed him down.

"Whoa, there," he heard a PA say.  "Two more steps and you'll be at your station."

"Ah, thanks."

Dean took two more steps and felt the wood block on his station.  Apparently each contestant had had a PA guardian angel watching out for them to make sure they didn't run into any knives or something.  Or in Dean's case, full on clothesline himself on a metal table.

"Times up, chefs!  Take your blindfolds off and see what you have!  Take a moment to think about your dish, and then you'll have the chance to get some herbs or spices.  And then, blindfolds will be back on."

Dean took off his blindfold and laughed at his good luck.  He'd grabbed shrimp out of the protein refrigerator, angel hair pasta, and the box he'd grabbed had been butter.  Shrimp scampi would almost be a cop out at this point, but he wasn't going to push his luck by attempting something crazy when he didn't have to.  And based on the groans and scared laughs coming from around the room, there were a lot of people who were wishing they could get away with making a simple dish.

 I somehow grabbed a package of mountain oysters.  Which for those of you questioning how there could be oysters in the mountains, they're bull testicles.

 So I got my tuna steaks thanks to the wonderful guidance of Dean's legs, but in the pantry I did not grab soy sauce and mirin.  I grabbed Worchester sauce and Sriracha.  Those are not terribly similar flavors.

 I took a risk going for the peppers.  I didn't get jalapeno, I got habanera...so I'm going to have to be really careful with the proportions or this dish will have too much heat.

 I thought I grabbed a package of tofu from the fridge, but I got scallops.  I'm actually allergic to shellfish—so I'm not going to be able to taste my dish as I cook it.  That's kind of a disadvantage.

 I have ground chuck, potatoes, and carrots.  Who doesn't like a good pot roast?  Well, me, for one.

 Based on the feel of the package I did correctly get pork chops.  The apples I pulled out of the pantry though are Granny Smith.  I might need to rethink the apple sauce idea.

 I have an excellent nose, so I'm relying on getting all the fresh herbs for my dish during the second round.  So, I only grabbed some eggs and cheese for my omelet.

 The cheese is tofu.

"Okay, chefs, I hope you all know your herbs by nose because we're bringing them around now.  Blindfolds on!  You'll be able to sample five fresh herbs and five dried spices.  The ones you guess correctly will be left on your station for your use.  Now I know some of you are thinking this isn't important to you because you don't need any additional ingredients for your dishes.  But know this, for every one you get wrong, that is one minute less you will be able to cook.  So, you could potentially lose ten minutes cooking time, and this challenge is only _twenty minutes_ to begin with."

Dean rolled his eyes under his blindfold.  He didn't work with many fresh herbs and virtually no spices other than salt and pepper, unless he was baking which he did not do often.  Fortunately shrimp scampi was a dish that could be made in ten minutes—if one didn't mind a little shell in their meal.

By using multiple camera operators and boom mics they were able to make the spices challenge go by quicker as three or four people went at a time.  When Dean pulled his blindfold off he was more than pleasantly surprised to find that he had four fresh herbs and two spices on his station.  He nodded to himself.  Not bad.

"Okay, cheftestants.  The clock will start at thirty minutes.  Zachariah, you scored a perfect ten, so you get to start on time.  After the first minute ticks down, Charlie, Meg, and Kevin you can start.  After two minutes Garth and Benny may begin.  After four minutes Dean, Aaron, and Jody may begin.  Tracy you can start after five minutes.  And Castiel, you'll have to wait for eight minutes to pass before you can begin."

Dean turned his head and looked down two stations to see Cas looking a little embarrassed with his arms crossed over his chest.  The only herbs he'd gotten right had been mint and cilantro, which even amateurs could determine by smell and taste alone.  Cas looked up and saw Dean looking at him.  Dean gave him a raised eyebrow and Cas' scowl deepened.

"I'm very reliant on sight when I cook," he mumbled.  "It's why I label things."

Dean looked down at his station to hide his smile.

"Okay, chefs, your time starts now!"

There was a momentary pause as everyone had a deer in the headlights moment.  Usually there was a filming break before the timer started.  Apparently not this time.  They all leapt to action, well, Zachariah did.  It was nerve wracking, to say the least, to watch the clock tick down as his competitors began work while he just had to stand there, but at least he wasn't as bad off as Cas.  When the clock hit sixteen minutes, Dean ran to get some boiling water in a pot for the pasta first thing.  Once he had the pasta going he ran back to his station and furiously began peeling and deveining his shrimp.  Cas still stood at his station, looking very calm, but his knuckles were white as he held his hands in fists on top of the cold metal.  Dean would have felt sorry for him, but he could still picture Cas' head resting in between Meg's breasts, so...fuck 'im.

The time flew by faster than Dean thought possible and he didn't even have time to clean the sauce splatters off his plate before time was called.  There was a general sense of defeat in the room as nobody had had the right combination of ingredients to make anything easily off the top of their heads.  Well, except Dean.  He smirked.  Awesome.

Even with the knowledge that he'd made something that wouldn't outright scare the judges, Dean waited anxiously for Joshua and Bela to get to his station.  When they did, Dean made a point to shake the man’s hand and tell him how much he enjoyed his entire dining experience when he ate at his restaurant in New Orleans.  The fact that he could remember exactly which song was playing when he took his first bite of the burger made Joshua chuckle.  He congratulated Dean on knowing his blues, but didn’t say anything about his dish.  In fact, he remained mum the entire time he was tasting, so everyone was left squirming with nervous energy as he and Bela took their places at the front of the kitchen.

“Okay, chefs, we’ve tried all your dishes—and I really must commend all of you for doing quite well considering some of the surprises you wound up having to cook with.  Now, Joshua, would you please tell us who was in the bottom of this challenge?”

“Zachariah, the flavors in your scrambled eggs were good.  You used the herbs you had available to you quite well.  But, it was just a plate of scrambled eggs.  I expected a little more in a competition of this caliber.  It would have been better if you had attempted to use the tofu in some way.”

 I have to agree with him.  It was a cop out.  Though they were some fantastic scrambled eggs.

“Also, Garth, son you just had a very unfortunate assortment of ingredients.  You actually did quite well with what you had, but it was still…pretty bad.”

 Man, I always try to be positive, but not only have I not been in the top for anything, I’m consistently in the bottom.  I’ve really got to get myself together.

“Meg, your flavors were there, but you probably needed at least another twenty or thirty minutes of cooking that meat to get it tender.”

 *beep*-ing pot roast.

“And who had your top dishes?”

“Charlie, I never would have thought Worchester sauce and Sriracha would blend well, but you managed to create a very tangy, sweet interesting sauce for your protein.  It was something new, which is hard to find nowadays.  Aaron, your latkes were wonderfully seasoned and cooked perfectly.  Well done.  And Castiel.”

Everyone’s head perked up at that.

“Your pork chops were tender and juicy and the apple and mint combination with the meat was oddly harmonic.  I really enjoyed it.”

“Okay, Joshua, so who is the winner of the Warm Up Challenge?”

“I really have to give it to the two chefs who managed to develop bold flavors by not being afraid to experiment with new combinations.  But if I had to go back and eat one again…I would choose Castiel’s.”

Nobody looked more stunned than Castiel with this news and everyone applauded him for coming out on top when he was at a worse disadvantage than most of them.

 Not afraid to experiment with new combinations?  He like literally had three ingredients and had no choice but to put them together.  But, whatever.

“Congratulations, Castiel,” Bela said, “that means you have immunity for this week’s Elimination Challenge.  And I think you guys are really going to like this challenge.  Joshua, would you share with the cheftestants what they’ll be doing?”

“Of course.  Now, as you all know, my food is inspired by my love of music.  So, I want to see what kind of music inspires you and how that translates into a dish.”

Dean felt a thrill go through him.  Cook food inspired by music?  This was even more up his alley than the burger challenge had been.

“Now remember, chefs,” Joshua continued.  “It’s about inspiration, not literal translation.  So, don’t tell me your favorite song is Hound Dog and cook me a hot dog.”

The contestants laughed politely, but most were already lost in their own thoughts and planning.

“Okay,” Bela said.  “You’ll have ten minutes to plan your dish, and then we’re going shopping at Super Foods where you’ll have twenty minutes to shop and a fifty dollar budget.  Then we’ll come back to the kitchen and you’ll have only one hour to prep for tomorrow.  Tomorrow you’ll have two hours to cook and you’ll be serving your dish to our judges, me, and three professors from the music department of the University of Miami.  Okay, your ten minutes, starts now.”

Dean tried to stay out of the way of the PAs who were attempting to get the set cleaned up as he considered what to do for his dish.  He knew he was either using “Ramble On” or “Traveling Riverside Blues.”  He thought about the lyrics to each one, and then realized the lyrics didn’t necessarily have to come into play with the inspiration.  It could just be what the music made him feel.  And while there was a lyric about squeezing a lemon and letting the juices run down his leg in the latter, he decided to go with “Ramble On.”  It would be the perfect opportunity to show off a lot of different techniques and his versatility by cooking several different kinds of cuisine.  It was a huge risk since he would be preparing several mini dishes as opposed to one, but if there was one challenge to be bold on, it was this one.

The trip to Super Foods was harrowing to say the least.  He had tried to organize his list as best he could, but he was still flying through the aisles trying to find all his ingredients.  He also had to be careful with his budget, but even still when he checked out he had to set aside a couple items so he would come in under the fifty dollars allotted.  Back at the kitchen he was a prepping fiend chopping and dicing roots and vegetables and mixing the marinades for his ribs, chicken, and octopus.  In order to afford four proteins he’d had to buy the absolute minimum amount he would need of each one, so he had no room for error.  If he messed one up he would either have to serve it as is or not serve it at all.  He didn’t get nearly as much done as he wanted to, but he felt that he’d be able to get it all completed in the two hours allotted tomorrow—as long as absolutely nothing went wrong.  And what were the odds of that happening?

It was still fairly early when the group got back to the condo, so they prepared dinner and ate together at the dining table.  Dean was never quite sure what to make of Garth’s stories.  He was certain they were all true, but he was just such a bizarre guy.  He was way too cheerful and positive to be at all normal, but Dean found himself liking the guy almost against his will.

After dinner the group split up into smaller groups, a couple individuals turned in early, and Dean joined Aaron on one of the couches to discuss why they chose the music they did for the challenge with Charlie, Kevin, and Tracy who sat on the other couch.  Charlie’s was some instrumental piece from a video game and involved killing beasts or something and that’s why she was serving huge slabs of barely cooked boar or something—he wasn’t quite following.  He hoped she would be able to explain it better to the judges, or that it came out tasting really fucking fantastic.

Aaron’s choice was “The Show Must Go On” by Queen.  It was a song that he listened to over and over again to find the will to not just give up on life after he came out to his parents.  He’d been expecting them to be shocked, but he hadn’t expected them to take it as badly as they had.  Eventually they came around, but not before cutting Aaron out of their lives for three years.  He admitted he still hadn’t quite forgiven them yet, but at least they were speaking again.

Dean had laid his arm over the back of the couch while Aaron had been speaking and gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze.  When he saw Cas out of the corner of his eye pause on his way to the balcony, he deliberately allowed his arm to settle on Aaron’s shoulders.  Cas went outside without a word.

“Gosh, I feel so shallow now,” Charlie said.  “Aaron’s is about coping with pain and loss, Kevin’s is about proving something to himself rather than to others, Tracy’s is about her mom—and I’m just like this song makes me think of slaying dragons!”

Everyone laughed and Dean felt a little guilt slide around in his stomach as Aaron settled more firmly against his side.

“Well, mine’s not much better,” he said to distract himself.  “I’m just thinking about how I don’t like to stay in one place too long and like to see new places.”

“Yeah, but you’re pulling from your personal experiences traveling around the world,” Charlie said.  “I’m so going to be in the bottom.  Or I’ve got to pick a different song and change my dish.”

“Don’t do that.  Do the song that really means something to you.  Joshua will understand that at the very least.”

“But most people don’t acknowledge that books and TV and games can have a profound effect on people.  They think it’s ridiculous when people get attached to fictional characters.”

Dean shrugged a shoulder.  “Prove them wrong.”

They stayed talking for another half hour and then Dean feigned tiredness in order to distance himself from Aaron.  Nothing else had happened other than for them to be sitting very close together while they chatted, but it also wasn’t the kind of thing you did with someone who was just a friend.  He really liked Aaron’s dry sense of humor and didn’t want to jeopardize their friendship by leading him on because he was pettily using him to make Cas jealous.  And why would even want to do that?  It was stupid.  This was a competition.  He wasn’t going to allow himself to get caught up on—wow, Cas had such pretty eyes.

Dean almost stopped walking when he passed by the balcony and saw Cas stumbling up from a chaise to get to the door.  Dean shook himself and kept walking, pretending like he hadn’t heard his name being called as the sliding glass door opened.  Cas caught up with him just outside their bedroom.

“Hey, Dean.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, turning around but not really looking him in the eye.

“I wanted to know—um.”  Cas hesitated as he noticed Dean’s demeanor.  “I was wondering if you wanted to join me on the balcony for awhile.  It’s really nice out tonight.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks, but I’ll pass.  I think I’m just going to go to bed.  I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.  So.”

“Oh, I see.  Um, Dean…?”

“Yeah, buddy?” Dean asked, stopping mid-turn, but not facing him completely.

“Are you mad at me?  Did I do something to make you angry?”

“What?  No, of course not.  I’m not angry.”  Dean finally made eye contact.  “I’m just not interested.”

Dean could see Cas actually flinch at his cool tone and harsh words.  He immediately felt like an ass, but he didn’t want to play the pining fool.  Cas kind of nodded, and then turned and walked away.  Dean escaped into his room and shut the door, grateful that he hadn’t seen any cameras about.  Of course that didn’t mean they weren’t there—lurking.  He let his head fall against the door with a soft thud.

“You know, brother…”

Dean whirled around, surprised that Benny was in the room.  He was sitting on his bed, reading a book, and he didn’t look up from it as he spoke.

“If this is how you are when you’re **not** interested in someone, I’d hate to see what you’re like when you are.”

He licked his thumb and turned a page in his book.  Dean scowled at him, but he was sure the blush on his cheeks ruined the effect.

***

The kitchen was organized chaos.  The chefs ran from place to place, knowing exactly what they were doing and following their own plans, but collectively it looked a little wild as they barely avoided collisions and fought over who was hogging the grilling station and yelling at the people who felt the need to make a Carpaccio and were subsequently banging the shit out of a piece of fish using a metal pot on a metal counter.

Dean was sweating from the roots of his hair right down to the crack of his ass.  He’d already had one mini disaster with the octopus—one pan he’d left out instead of putting in the refrigerator overnight and it had all spoiled.  He now had literally one octopus to use per takoyaki ball and if something went wrong with those he would have to scrap it all together.  He had three different sauces going and two sauté pans with ingredients he had to watch like a hawk, plus he had to make sure his meat didn’t get overdone on the grill or in the oven.  He was really starting to regret his decision to be so “bold.”

With five minutes left to spare he had four of the five components of his dish completed and plated, and he was waiting for the chicken to finish baking.  He drizzled sauce onto the fifth spot and placed a couple sprigs of cilantro as garnish not so much to make it look pretty but to give himself something to do.  He was taking this down to the wire.  He had no idea what had possessed him to attempt to make tamales.  It took hours to make those on a normal day, forget preparing four other dishes.  He thought only making two would make it feasible, but he saw now he was a fucking idiot.

He watched the clock carefully.  He needed to allow enough time to get them out, cut them up, and plate eight of them.  He could do this.  With two and a half minutes to spare he dashed over to the ovens.  Cas was at the oven next to him, pulling a tray out very carefully.  Dean yanked open the door to his own oven.

“Easy!” Cas warned him sharply as he gingerly set his tray on the stove top and then reached down to close the over door.

Dean grabbed the tray with his tamales and turned around, throwing his foot out behind him to catch the oven door and slam it shut.  He heard a despairing wail come from behind him as he slid to a stop at his station and began cutting his tamales.  They burned his fingers and he barely got them onto his plate without them falling completely apart.

“Time's up, tools down!” Bela called out.

Dean looked down at his plate.  Five small portions of his dishes had made it onto all eight plates.  And they looked good.  He knew they tasted even better.  He was actually starting to feel good about this.

“Oh, no!” Bela cried out and Dean looked up.

She was standing in front of Cas’ station looking down at his dish and Dean was startled to find Cas glaring at him with horrible, painful murder in his eyes.  Dean raised a finger and pointed questioningly at himself.

“Yes, you!” Cas yelled.  “You slammed your oven door shut and it jarred the whole row!”

“So?”

“I made soufflés, Dean!”

Dean looked down at the ramekins on Cas’ station and realized he had eight collapsed, soggy soufflés making a rather ugly mess on his serving plate.

 It was sabotage, I tell you.  He chose that exact moment to get his stupid tamales out?  I don’t think so.  He knew.  He saw.  Sabotage.

 Dude is crazy.  I was just rushing to beat the clock.  It was pure, unfortunate coincidence.

Dean was eternally grateful that he could escape Cas’ death glare by being the first one to present his dishes to the judges.  Inside the judging room he was introduced to the three guest judges from the university, and then asked to explain his dish as they ate.

“I selected one particular song and not just a genre of music.  I picked Led Zeppelin’s ‘Ramble On.’”

He got a smile from Crowley, Gabriel, and one of the professors, and frowns from Naomi and one of the professors.  It figures Naomi was too uptight to know good music.

“I picked this song because of its theme of constantly travelling and looking for something.  I was in the Marine Corps for eight years and was stationed at various places around the world and it was always exciting to go to new places and try new things, but before long I would get this pull to leave and try something different.  For my dish today I prepared a quintet of tasting portions that represent my travels.

“First are braised and barbequed short ribs, Kansas City style, with a side of corn and lima bean succotash.  I was born and raised in Lawrence, Kansas, so good old KC barbeque is kind of like home for me.

“Next is from my first station in Böblingen, Germany.  I prepared a traditional weisswurst with beer infused sauerkraut.

“Then I did a couple of tours in Afghanistan.  I’m not the biggest fan of food without meat, but I found that meatless versions of palaw packed a lot of flavor on their own.  So, that’s the middle item on your plate.  It’s basmati rice with onion, yogurt, lotus root, cilantro, and coriander.

“I ended my stint in the Marines on Okinawa in Japan and really came to love the street food they sold during festivals.  So, I recreated takoyaki—which is fried octopus balls.  I made two dipping sauces for you.  One is the traditional takoyaki sauce which is Worchester sauce and mayonnaise, essentially.  And the second is a soy sauce with dashi and citrus vinegar.

“Finally, we end the trip in my current home of Texas, which I know a lot of people would expect steak or chili to represent the ultimate Texan dish, but I’ve always been more drawn to Tex-Mex.  So, I’ve prepared chicken tamales with an avocado cream sauce.”

“This,” Gabriel said, holding up a takoyaki ball on a toothpick, “is awesome.  I’ve been to Japan too and this tastes exactly like what you would find from a street vendor at a matsuri.”

Dean smiled, very pleased.

“Tamales are hard to make,” one of the professors who happened to be Latino said, “but you have made one here that my mamito would approve of.”

Dean clenched his hands behind his back, trying not to appear too excited.

“Each individual component is quite good,” Naomi said and Dean knew there was a “but” coming.  “But altogether they don’t really flow.  It’s not a cohesive meal.  It’s a little jarring.”

“But when you take into consideration his choice of inspiration, that makes sense,” Crowley said.  “It’s about moving from place to place and in a random manner.  Not about following a plan.”

Naomi offered a subdued one-shoulder shrug in concession.  The other professors and Bela also all praised his food, only one saying his succotash was a little bland, but Dean figured that guy could just bite him in the ass for all he cared about his opinion.  He turned his eyes to Joshua.  The man smiled kindly at him.

“This is very impressive, Dean.  Each individual component is very delicious and representative of the place that inspired it.  Ms. Milton is right when she says that the journey is haphazard, but Mr. Crowley is right that it is meant to be.  You picked a great song and interpreted it with five incredibly well made and tasty dishes.  The only complaint I have is that there’s not a dish representing where you think you might like to ramble on to next.  I’m kind of hoping it might be New Orleans because I would love to be able to work with you.”

Dean was grinning ear to ear.  He couldn’t imagine a better critique and the fact that Joshua Jardin had liked his food and his inspiration so much that he said he’d like to work with him made him feel like he was floating.  He barely managed to choke out a thank you and then he went back into the kitchen where the other chefs were anxiously watching their food cool and in some cases congeal.  Dean let himself swagger a little.

“Good luck, guys.  I set the bar pretty high.”

“Eat me, Winchester,” Meg muttered as she walked past him to begin her judging.  Dean just laughed and started to head in the direction of the holding room.  He noticed Cas still looking forlornly at his soufflés; they looked even worse now.  Dean felt a little bad about it, but he was still on too much of a high to let it get him down.

One by one the chefs began to trickle in after their critiques.  Charlie said hers went better than she expected, but she could tell they really didn’t get the connection between the food and the music.  When Cas came in Dean asked if he had ratted him out, but he just sullenly said, “No,” and then sat in a chair with his arms crossed.

The conversation was light for the most part.  Everyone seemed to have a pretty decent critique and was therefore in a semi-hopeful mood.  Then Aaron came in with a fist pump and victory shout.

“I take it it went well?” Dean asked with a smile.

“Yes, it did,” Aaron said giving him a high five and sitting in a chair close to him.  “They were all pretty touched by my story—Naomi even blinked.”

The group chuckled and Dean patted his knee.  Cas exploded.

“Yeah that’s great when you have a story that doesn’t rely on your food actually being good.  Who’s going to criticize the poor kid with the traumatic coming out story?”

Everyone looked at him with surprise; snarky sarcasm was more Cas’ thing than outright anger.

“So, what, you’re saying my food isn’t good?  It was certainly better than that soggy mess you served to the judges!” Aaron shot back.

“I made eight perfect soufflés in only two hours!  They only failed because some ape-bull hybrid was running around the kitchen like a hyperactive chipmunk!”

“That’s a lot of animals in that metaphor,” Dean said dryly, trying not to allow his anger to rise to Cas’ level.

“It was a simile, you fuckwit.”

“Hey, whoa now,” Benny stepped in.  “I understand you’re upset, Cas, any of us would be after such hard work going to waste, but it **was** an accident.”

“You don’t know that,” Meg said.  “He could have done it on purpose.”

“I didn’t fucking do it on purpose!” Dean shouted in exasperation.

The group broke out into a multi-way argument.  Even people who tried to stay out of it found themselves getting drawn in to defend one person or another.  As upset as Dean was he was very conscious of the cameras settling into good positions to see people’s faces and get close ups.  Two producers were circling close by too in order to make sure the argument didn’t escalate to a physical confrontation.  This was going to be another good ratings episode.

“Chefs!”

The room went quiet as they saw Bela standing at the entrance.  They all looked at their fingers and avoided eye contact with her and each other.

“I’m sure I want to know what happened in here, but that’ll have to wait until later.  The judges would like to see you all now.”

The group filed out solemnly and Dean was ticked that his good mood had been pretty much squashed.  He felt a little anger toward Cas, but as soon as he put himself in his shoes, he was certain he would have handled the whole situation with a lot less grace.

They all hit their marks in the judging room and Dean had to stand on the back row with Cas since they were both tall, but fortunately Zachariah, Garth, and Benny were in between them.  Bela took up her spot in front of the judges table with her stupid canister of spatulas.  Dean was certain he would never be able to take this ceremony seriously.

“Chefs, this week was exponentially better than last week.  You all produced good dishes with wonderful stories of inspiration.  But one dish really stood out above the others and that chef wins best dish of the challenge and gets to pick an envelope from the prize tree.”  Bela held up the spatula labeled with the number one, and then turned it over.  “Dean.”

It wasn’t narcissism, but Dean had been expecting to win after his comments from the judges and listening to what the others had said about their critiques.  But, he kind of wished he hadn’t won because he had a feeling it was just going to make Cas hate him more.  Still, he dutifully walked forward with a smile and accepted his spatula.  Then he went to the prize tree and selected an envelope from the top branches.  He tilted his head to the side to get a crick out of his neck when he felt the uncomfortable press of the cameraman behind him.  It might be worth throwing all future challenges just to not have to deal with this anymore.

“All new stainless steel kitchen appliances provided by Kenmore.”

Dean tried to show the appropriate level of happiness and appreciation for the prize, but he lived in a rented apartment, so replacing the appliances there would be pointless.  Maybe he could give it to Sam.  He walked over to the right of the judges' table and waited for the rest of the contestants to be called.

Aaron came in second and Dean noticed that Cas rolled his eyes.  Then came Kevin, Benny, Jody, Zachariah, Meg, and Tracy.  Cas was called third from last.

“Castiel,” Bela said, “we’re very sorry your soufflés fell on you, but the flavors were there and your inspirational story was especially moving.  However, you are lucky you had immunity this week because everyone’s dish was excellent.  We had to nitpick just to find problems with the other dishes.”

Cas swallowed and nodded.  Dean felt a little sick.  Would Cas have really been sent home because of his bonehead mistake?

“You can join the other chefs.  Will Charlie and Garth please step forward?  I have one spatula in my canister and the name on this spatula is the chef that is continuing on in the competition.  The chef’s whose name I do not call must immediately return to the kitchen, pack up your knives, and go.

“Charlie, you prepared a rarely eaten protein by giving us boar and it was done quite well, but the side salad seemed like an afterthought and your inspirational song and story was a little muddled.

“Garth, your whimsical play on ‘poisonous’ foods inspired by Bel Biv Devo’s ‘Poison’ was an interesting choice and presenting us with faux-fugu and foxglove shaped purple potatoes was a clever idea, however, the dish consisted of only a white tuna Carpaccio and three little potatoes.  We felt like there should have been more components to your dish, and a more personal touch to your inspiration.

“So who stays and who goes?”  Bela turned over the spatula.  “Charlie, congratulations.  You’re still in the running to becoming America’s Next Top Chef.”

Charlie exhaled sharply and Dean did too.  He wasn’t happy either were going home, at least not while Meg and Zachariah were still in the competition, but he would have definitely missed Charlie more.

“I’m sorry, Garth, that means you’re out.  Please return to the kitchen and pack your knives.”

Garth hung his head for a moment, but then he looked up with a smile.

“Thank you for the opportunity.”

The judges all smiled at him, even Naomi—the guy was infectious.  He walked over to the other contestants and gave most everyone a hug.  He even managed to rope Dean in with a smile and a waving hand.  Dean pretended like he was just doing it to be polite, but he gave the skinny guy a quick squeeze back.  He was a little bizarre, but he told some good stories.

 It’s really hard to get sent home on a challenge that’s so personal.  I know the judges didn’t think there was much to my story, but that jam is my theme song!  Maybe if I’d also been able to get my “hemlock” salad on the plate it would have seemed like more of a complete dish.  But, I’m happy with the experience and wish all my competitors the best of luck.

The post judging dinner was a little somber as everyone was a sad to see the only person in the group who hadn’t had some friction with at least one person go home.  Plus everyone was still tense from the interrupted argument in the holding room.  When they got back to the condo some discussion started on whether anyone wanted to move into Zachariah’s room now that he was alone, but then Jody found the note Garth left on the kitchen counter.  After reading it aloud they were all laughing, but then disheartened as they realized that his particular brand of oddball positivity was gone from the condo (even if it was only now just down the hall).

Dean decided he wanted to go decompress in his room, but he was stopped by a hand at his elbow.  He turned and saw Cas standing beside him.  And that did not make his heart stutter.

“Can we talk?”

“Uh, yeah, Cas, I was just going to—“

“In private.”

Dean swallowed thickly.  “Sure.”

Dean noticed that everyone in the house was pretending not to watch them as they walked out onto the balcony.  The cameraman didn’t even try to be sneaky.  Dean followed Cas around to the side of the balcony where they could have some moderate privacy (if they ignored the cameraman) and Cas sat down on the chaise lounge with his legs crossed.  Dean sat perpendicular to him and leaned against the balcony wall.

“I’m sorry,” Dean blurted out first, just to get it out of the way.  “It was an accident, Cas, but I should have said I was sorry.”

Cas nodded, and then said, "I'm sorry I called you a fuckwit."

Dean bobbed his head, accepting both the apology and the responsibility of being a little bit of a fuckwit.  Then a silence stretched out between them.  Dean wondered why he’d brought him out here to talk if he had nothing more to say.  Maybe he thought it would be harder to get an apology out of him.  Dean kicked one of his legs out and braced it against the wall of the condo.

“So, what was your story anyway?”

“I made an herbed potato and cheese soufflé.  I spent a lot of time developing a technique to make the potatoes super light and airy and the cheese is whipped so it’s not dense and it makes every bite light on the tongue.  They also rise extra high, which means they fall extra hard.”

Dean chuckled and then bit his lip and glanced at Cas, but he had a small smile on his lips.  Then he let out a small sigh.

“The idea is that it’s like eating a cloud.  It’s something I made for my sister when she was—well, she always liked the idea of being able to taste heaven and see what it might be like before she…went there.  So, the song that inspired me was ‘Stairway to Heaven.’  Not just the imagery, but it was one of my sister’s favorite songs.”

Dean wasn’t a complete idiot; he could read between the lines.  He was pretty certain Cas’ sister had passed away, and at a fairly young age considering her talk about wanting to taste clouds.  It made him think about how close he had come to losing Sammy.  He couldn’t imagine actually surviving something like that.  He picked at a tear in the knee of his jeans, and then quite involuntarily a memory flitted across his mind and he smiled.

“What is it?” Cas asked.

“What?  Oh, nothing.  Sorry.  Just the song made me think of something, but it’s stupid.”

“Tell me,” he prodded, nudging Dean in the thigh with his knee.

Dean looked over at Cas and saw that perhaps he wanted a distraction from where his thoughts had led him.

“I just…I’m a huge Zeppelin fan.  Always have been.  And I remember telling my little brother once that if I could find someone who loved Led Zeppelin and could cook…I would marry them.”

Cas laughed quietly and dropped his eyes.  He played with one of his nails and spoke with a tone that Dean supposed was meant to be light-hearted teasing.  “Well, I may fit the criteria, but I can’t imagine you’d want to marry someone who holds no interest for you.”

Dean sighed softly.  “Look, it’s not that I meant you were an uninteresting person.  I mean, I like you.  You’re nice to talk to.  I guess I just meant I didn’t have much interest in someone who wasn’t interested in me.”

Cas raised his head with a confused look on his face.  “What do you mean?  When have I ever said that I’m not interested in what you have to say?”

“Well, it’s not what I have to say, it’s more that my tits aren’t big enough for you to rest your head on while I say it.”

Oh, Dean wanted to take that one back.  How many times had Sam told him to filter his thoughts before he spoke?

“Is that what this is about?”

Dean looked at Cas and the man was smiling—and it was a little on the smug side.

“Is that what what was about?” Dean asked defensively.

“You’re jealous,” Cas stated, like he was discovering some glorious heretofore unknown truth about the universe.

“What?”

“Of Meg.  You’re jealous of Meg.”

“You’re nuts.  Again, sorry about the soufflés.”

Dean moved to get up and Cas intercepted him by unfolding his legs and hooking one over Dean’s thigh.  He sat frozen as Cas scooted closer and smiled at him.  This close Dean could see the blue of his eyes even in their dark corner.  And he could see the blue shrinking as Cas’ pupils dilated slightly.

“You are jealous.  And that means you like me.”

“I already said I liked you,” Dean muttered trying to ignore how hot Cas’ body felt pressed against his and how fucking delicious his lips looked.  He dropped his head and looked away.

“No, Dean.”  He put a hand under Dean’s chin and forced him to look up.  He could feel Cas’ warm breath ghosting over his lips.  “You **like** me,” he whispered, moving slowly closer…so slowly.

Dean let his eyes close and tilted his head just a bit to the left and felt the barest hint of warm lips against his and then someone flung open the sliding glass door and shouted, “Hey!  Are you both still alive?!  We want to make sure one of you didn’t throw the other over the side!”

Dean and Cas had jumped apart like they’d been electrocuted.  They looked at each other a little embarrassedly, but both knowing they really wished they hadn’t been interrupted.

“Hey!”

“We’re fine, Charlie!” Dean shouted back.

“What about Cas?  Voice check.”

“I’m still alive as well,” Cas called out.

“Okay good.  You guys should come in.  We’re having root beer floats in Garth’s honor.”

“We’ll be right there,” Dean said.

The sliding glass door closed and Dean looked at the cameraman once before turning to look at Cas again.  The mood was totally broken, but he was still willing to pick up where they left off if Cas was.  Unfortunately, he was standing up and stretching his arms over his head.  He reached a hand down and Dean dejectedly took it and stood up.  Ice cream was a poor consolation prize when he could have had those sweet lips.

Dean followed Cas to the bend in the balcony and there wasn’t enough room for them to get by with the cameraman there because of a medium sized potted palm tree stuffed into the corner.  The cameraman dropped his camera down and turned around so they could all walk out.  Dean started as Cas whipped around and grabbed him by the front of his T-shirt.  He slammed their lips together in a quick, slightly awkward though incredibly hot kiss and then let him go.  He kept walking like nothing had happened and the cameraman got his camera back up in time to see Dean and Cas walking back into the condo like any two normal dudes.  Well, maybe Dean had an idiotic grin on his face, but at least America wouldn’t know why.


	5. Round 4

Dean startled awake and reached for the knife that wasn't under his pillow.  He had a momentary panic attack until he turned over and recognized the America's Next Top Chef condo suite.  He sighed heavily and slid back down into the covers.  He had stopped with the knife-under-the-pillow a year after getting out of the service, really he hadn't needed it at all when he'd been serving his last year on base in Corpus Christi, but it hadn't felt silly to have it there.  It was only when he was truly a civilian again that he realized he needed to work on letting Afghanistan go even though he had already been two years removed from his last tour.  It also became an issue when one of his one night stands had accidentally come across it before he had the chance to put it away.  Needless to say, he hadn't gotten laid that night.

He turned his head in Benny's direction as the man snored again.  That was probably what had woken him up in the first place.  He supposed the competition had made him so tired lately he'd been able to sleep through the bear snores.  He turned his head to look at Cas and nearly jumped out of his skin.  The man was standing next to his bed, looking down at him.

"Jesus Christ, Cas, what the fuck?"

"I—uh, I'm sorry.  I just came over to see if you were awake and then it looked like you were thinking and I didn't want to disturb you."

"Next time disturb me.  It's creepy just watching people like that."

"Sorry."

"It's fine.  Did you...want something?"

Their eyes locked and Dean realized that was a poor choice of words.  Cas licked his lips and if Benny weren't in the room Dean would have thrown him down on the bed right then and there and dived right into blissful oblivion.  The corners of Cas' lips quirked up like he could read Dean's mind.

"I wanted to know if you wanted to try to sneak away from the cameras and take a walk on the beach."

Dean rubbed a hand over his sleep mussed hair.  "Yeah, that sounds great.  But you know if we leave here together they're going to send a crew with us."

"Yeah, but no one followed me when I went for a run the other day.  So, I'll just get dressed like I'm going to go for a run and leave.  You can wait fifteen minutes or so and then say you're going to go get breakfast from the cafe downstairs and I'll meet you by the boardwalk that leads to the beach."

"Quite the strategic mind you've got there, Cas."

"I was the middle child of eight children.  I've been at war since I was born."

Dean laughed.  "Eight kids, huh?  Man.  One was enough for me."

"Well, it's not like they were my kids."  Cas tilted his head.  "Do you consider your little brother like he's your son?"

"What?  No, of course not."  Dean's brow creased.  "Well, not exactly.  I mean, my mom died when we were young and my dad was kind of...absent a lot.  He was a police detective and he became obsessed with finding her killer and I...I think it killed him."

Dean stopped talking, kind of horrified how easily that had all spilled out of him.  He didn't even talk about his parents with Sam.  It had been like pulling teeth for Ellen to get any of his past out of him.  Dean looked up, and felt a little sick to realize that Cas was freaked out by his tragic past.  This was why he didn't talk about it.  It either made people pity him or want to run far away from his suffocating baggage.  It hurt worse than he thought possible that Cas would look at him like that now.

He tried to think of some way to brush off what he'd said like it was just somebody else's story, or maybe to offer him an out to the walk on the beach so he wouldn't have to ask awkwardly if they could postpone it.  And then Dean would have to suffer silently as he watched Cas pull farther and farther away every day, casting sad, pitiful looks in his direction.  He opened his mouth to speak, and then was stunned into silence when Cas suddenly sat on the bed next to him and threw his arms around his neck.

"Oh, shit, Dean, I'm so sorry."

Dean put a hand to his shoulder to push him away, but it kind of just settled on his T-shirt.  People always said how sorry they were for him, but this seemed a little different.  Plus Cas' face was buried in his neck and his lips were moving against his skin and he couldn't remember what they were talking about...

"That first night here...what I said...I'm so sorry!  No wonder you got so upset."

Dean made a confused face and let his eyes jump side to side for a moment.  "Uh, what?"

Cas pulled back, but left his arms around Dean's neck.  "I wouldn't have said it if—well, of course I wouldn't have said it.  But I shouldn't have said anything to someone I didn't know."

"Cas," Dean said, putting a hand on Cas' forearm where it hung off his shoulder.  "What are you talking about?  What did you say?"

"I—I said that your mother never taught you any manners," he said softly, ashamedly.

Dean tried to dredge up the memory of that night.  He remembered how hot Cas looked when he was ticked off.  And he remembered he and Cas did get into each other's faces.  He supposed what Cas remembered was probably closer to what actually happened than what he remembered about the incident.

"Cas, that's not—I was drunk, dude.  So, I probably overreacted.  I mean, what you said wasn't a jab at my personal tragedy.  I get that."

"But still—"

"Cas."  Dean reached up and cupped his face with his hand.  "Seriously.  Not a big deal."

Cas nodded and his lips parted as his breathing increased slightly.  Dean responded in kind.

"Fuck, Cas, you can't—"

He cut off as Cas kissed him.  Dean immediately slid the hand on his face up into that stupidly soft mess of hair and pulled him closer.  They pressed close, mouths opening to each other to share their heat and taste, but they kept their tongues to themselves for the moment, just enjoying the warm, dry drag of their lips.

"Et-hmm."

They pulled apart with a wet smack and turned to see Benny sitting up in bed not looking particularly amused to have been woken up by a gay make out session.

"Do I need to move in with Zachariah?" he asked dryly.

"No," Dean and Cas said together.

They looked at each other and then Cas stood up .

"I really think you need to stay in the room with us as long as possible," Cas said.

Dean kind of agreed, but it was a little disappointing to know that Cas was absolutely not looking for any kind of sex.  Well, at least not during the competition.

"Well, I'm going to brush my teeth and then I'm going to go for a run," Cas shared unnecessarily.

Dean laughed softly and Cas frowned at him as he gathered his running clothes and headed toward the bathroom.  Dean looked at Benny and gave him a sheepish smile.

"I do not want to play chaperone," Benny said as he turned over and pulled the sheets over his head.

"Sorry, Benny.  It won't happen again.  Promise."

"You wanna make odds on that?"

Dean considered.  "No, actually I don't think I would come out on top on that one."

Benny snorted and burrowed further under the covers.  Dean got up and rummaged through his bag.  He found the pair of board shorts Sam had made him pack.  Did he want to put those on?  He hadn't worn shorts since he was a kid.  Well, he'd worn them for some training exercises while in the Marines, but then everybody had been wearing the same thing so it didn't seem like a big deal.  He supposed these were technically swimming trunks so they didn't really count as shorts.  He threw them on the bed with his Motorhead T-shirt (he didn't mind if that one got wet), and pulled his sweatpants down.  The door flew open and Dean started, tripped on his pants, and fell onto the floor.  He looked up to see Cas stepping over him and a cameraman filming the whole thing.

"Sorry, Dean.  I was just dropping off my pajamas and grabbing my headphones.  Because.  I'm going for a run.  By myself."

Dean gave him a thumbs up.  Cas left again and shut the door.  Dean sighed.  And he was right back to wanting to murder Sam for ever applying to this show on his behalf.

Twenty minutes later he was dressed, with brushed teeth, and throwing away a banana peel in the garbage.  As he was walking out the door Charlie skipped after him.

"Where are you going?"

"I thought I'd get breakfast at the Cosi next door."

"Oh, sounds good.  Getting tired of cereal anyway."

Dean grabbed her by the shoulder to keep her from bolting out the door.  "Charlie.  I'm not—"  He looked up and saw one the cameramen filming a conversation among Aaron, Meg, and Kevin about clothes on the floor of their bedroom, but he was looking in his direction.

"Uh, okay, yeah let's go."

They walked over to the elevator and Dean made sure they were safely on it with no snoopy cameras following before he interrupted Charlie's chatter about something that involved a lot of letters—RPGs, MMOs, HMOs—something.

"Charlie.  Charlie."

"Yeah?"

"Look, uh, I'm not going to get breakfast.  So..."

"So, why'd you say you were?"

"I'm, uh.  I'm..."

"Dean, what is it?  You're not going to the producers in secret to drop out, are you?!"

"What?  No."

"Then what?"

"I'm going to meet Cas on the beach, okay?"

Dean immediately regretted telling her as she began hopping up and down and continued to hop right off the elevator when it opened into the lobby of the building.

"Oh my gosh this is like a total secret hidden love affair romance story!  And, I'm totally in on it!  I can run interference and we can have code words and oh!  I can make the video montage that plays at your wedding!  Do you like Pat Benatar?"

Charlie stopping talking and clasped her hands together excitedly as they stood in front of the glass door to Cosi.  Dean could feel his eye twitching.

"No Benatar?"

"No wedding, Charlie.  We're just...hanging out."

"But we can still have code words?"

Dean closed his eyes with a weary sigh.  "We'll discuss it later."

Charlie clapped her hands together.  "Yes!  You guys will be so undercover.  Don't worry about a thing."

"Mm-hm."

"Hey, are you sure you don't want to grab something to eat before you go?"

"I had a banana upstairs."

"And that's enough for you?  Dean, I'll admit I haven't known you long but I'm pretty sure a single banana is what someone would give you for breakfast as a punishment."

"I'm fine for now.  I'm just already late."

"Oh.  I see.  You're feeding on love's sweet nectar."

"Charlie, I will break your iPod."

"Go ahead.  The one I have here is like my old junker one."

Dean scowled at her.  Charlie punched him lightly in the shoulder.

"Go get 'im, tiger."

Dean turned away with resigned annoyance and stomped away from her.  He found Cas waiting right where he'd said he'd be.  Dean smiled as he approached him unseen.  He was just...standing there: arms hanging loose at his sides, staring blankly out toward the ocean.  The guy **was** a little on the odd side.

"Hey, Cas."

Cas turned and his face broke into a shy smile.  "Hello, Dean."

Dean indicated the boardwalk with a hand, and they stepped onto it together and started the walk toward the beach.  They both fidgeted a little nervously as the silence stretched out between them.  When they reached the end of the walkway, Cas stooped to take off his flip-flops and held them in his hands as he stepped down onto the sand.

"It's so amazing about these white sand beaches," Cas said.  "You can walk on them even when the sun gets hot because it reflects the heat."

Dean just raised his eyebrows and nodded.  He had no idea you couldn't walk barefoot on some beaches, and that sand came in different colors.  When he thought of sand he thought of yellowy dunes and brown wastelands.  He followed Cas' lead though and took off his flip-flops, which he was grateful for because flip-flops were just lame.  He made sure to carry them in his left hand since Cas was on his right, and he noticed Cas carried his in his right hand, freeing up his left hand.  They walked down to the line in the sand were dry met wet, and walked along it slowly, occasionally feeling the warm water rush over their toes.

"So," Cas said after they'd walked about a quarter mile, "do you want to talk about...your parents?"

Dean squinted ahead down the beach, watching parents take squealing children out to the shallow waves and teenage boys trying to impress the sunbathing teenage girls by boogie boarding.  Apparently it was too early for the older crowds to be out yet.

"This morning was kind of odd," he finally said.

"In what way?"

"I don't really talk about my parents...ever.  So, it's odd that I just kind of came out and told you what I did.  I'm not sure I'm quite ready to open up that much.  It's not you..."  He laughed at the cliché.  "It's me."

"I understand.  I mean, really we've known each other for nine days now?  Eleven if you count the preliminary competition three months ago.  I think you're right: we're not quite at the share our deepest darkest secrets and pain with each other yet."

Dean smiled.  "Yeah.  You gotta know someone for at least two weeks for that."

Cas chuckled.  "So, we won't talk about family.  And I'm assuming we'll stay off the topic of your service?"

"That would be a good idea."

"Okay.  How about cooking?  Why do you cook?"

"Um...because I get paid to?"

Cas bumped his shoulder, "Come on."

Dean walked off course two steps with the force and then overcorrected, bringing him within inches of Cas.  Their hands brushed with every step.  He didn't move away.

"When I got out of the service I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself.  Sammy, my brother Sam, was still in school getting his master's in education at KCU and I just...didn't want to go home.  So, I stayed nearby my last base of assignment.  Ellen, uh, my employer, she had posted a want ad for a bartender.  So, that's where I started.  One night the cook called out sick at the last minute.  At the time the Roadhouse was just a bar and served the bare minimum of bar food, so Ellen asked if I could handle making sliders and frying onion rings and fries.  I said sure.  I worked as the cook for three days and Ellen hired me full time for that position after her patrons actually started ordering the food once word got out it didn't taste like old grease anymore.  It was fine for a while, but I'd get bored so I would start experimenting and trying them out on regulars.  And well, you know, yada yada word gets out, more customers come in, and we decided to try to convert the Roadhouse into a full on restaurant.  That was about a year ago, and we've done pretty well."

Cas suddenly burst out laughing.

"What?" Dean asked not sure if he wanted to frown at being laughed at or join in because hearing Cas laugh made him feel...happy?

"Nothing, Dean.  You just yada yada-ed going from a fill-in fry cook to an executive chef of your own restaurant."

Dean smiled and shook his head.  "It's not my restaurant.  It's Ellen's.  I just work there."

"Yeah.  You're something else, Dean Winchester."

"Something good?"

"Something amazing."

He turned to face him and Dean felt his breath catch in his throat.  With the natural sunlight lighting up his eyes, they put the actual ocean they walked beside to shame.  Dean dropped his eyes and took in a deep breath to try to loosen the tight feeling in his chest.

"What about you?" he asked and cleared his throat to get rid of some of the hoarseness.

"Ah, I told you.  Law school just wasn't for me.  And my family was kind enough to give me the start up money to open my own place."

"That's the how.  Why do you cook?"

Cas shrugged.  "I like it.  It makes me feel connected to people...I no longer have."

"Ah."

"My mother died when I was young too, but I do remember standing on a chair beside her watching her cook and bake.  I had my very own apron and everything."

Dean smiled.  "Aww, I bet baby Cas in a frilly pink apron was adorable."

"It wasn't **pink**.  Not that there's anything wrong with a boy liking pink."

"No, of course not," he said, only slightly mocking.  "That's very gender normative of me."

Cas looked at him with surprise.  "I gotta admit I'm little surprised to hear that term come out of you."

"Little brother, man.  Seriously, you two should meet.  You'd get along great.  You two could blah blah social issues and I could watch a football game for once instead of reality cooking shows."

"Aw, you're not a fan of _America's Next Top Chef_?  That show is awesome."

"That show is corny as fuck."

"Yeah, the elimination ceremony for sure, but the challenges—I bet even the toughest chefs would struggle with some of them."

"Mm.  Some would even fail to identify basil when they felt and smelled it."

"Oh shut up!  That was mortifying!"

Dean cackled.  "Seriously, dude, how did you not get basil?  And oregano for Pete's sake."

"Shut it, Winchester, or you're going in the water."

"Really, not getting cinnamon...you probably should have forfeited right then and there."

Cas turned on him and grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the waves.  "Cinnamon and allspice smell a lot alike!"

Dean laughed and pulled back on Cas, spinning them around, wrapping one arm around his waist.  "They don't at all, Novak."

They laughed and play-fought right up to the waves.  Then one large wave came and disrupted their balance  They toppled into the water and came up spluttering and laughing and grabbing for each other's arms.  Dean pulled Cas close to him and brushed his wet hair off his forehead.  The man went still and watched him, his hands keeping a firm grip on Dean's biceps.

Dean ran his hand down Cas' jaw line and then drew his thumb lightly over his lower lip.  Cas closed his eyes, inhaled, and then opened them.  Out of the corner of his eye Dean saw something flat and brown bobbing on the small swells.  He let out a squawk and dove for it before the current carried it away.  It was Cas’ flip-flop, which meant his were somewhere…he turned around and saw Cas holding up one of his.

“I got one,” Cas said.

They searched over the surface of the water and had to splash down current several feet to retrieve the other two.  They laughed as they sloshed out of the water and trudged back up to the harder packed sand.  As they walked back toward the condo in companionable silence, their hands kept brushing together, their fingers occasionally tangling.  Eventually they started talking about what they thought upcoming challenges might be.  When they reached the boardwalk they stayed out an extra thirty minutes sitting on the railing to let the sun dry them out.  Once even their hair was dry, they walked into the building, it going unspoken that neither cared if the cameras saw them come in together.

***

“Hello, everyone!  It’s so nice to see everyone’s smiling faces this morning.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his lips in to keep from grinning.  That had definitely not been Bela’s attitude just before the cameras started rolling.  She’d had a major cowlick going on that her stylists couldn’t do anything about other than to put a headband on her.  She hadn’t taken too kindly to some of the contestants’ good natured ribbing.

“I’m actually pretty excited about today’s Warm Up Challenge.  It should be interesting.  So, let’s meet our guest judge and find out what it is.  Joining us this week is culinary legend and business mogul Missouri Mosley.”

The contestants “oo-ed” and clapped as the woman walked into the kitchen.

“I’m sure you are familiar with her shows on Food Network and her line of cooking sauces, but did you also know that she is president of Mosley Cook Co. and built her company from the ground up after starting out as a waitress in her father’s diner?  Missouri is the living embodiment that with hard work and determination (and no small amount of talent) you can achieve any goal you set your mind to.”

“Well, thank you for your kind words,” Missouri said in her sweet, high voice.  “But I didn’t get there all on my own.  I’ve been very blessed to get where I am and the most important lesson I learned along the way is never to take anything for granted.”

“Exactly, chefs.  And I feel like, maybe you have been taking this nice pantry behind you and the fantastic wares at Super Foods for granted.”

The contestants started to squirm.

“So,” Missouri said, “we’re going to see what you can accomplish with limited resources available to you.  When I started out I had ten bucks to my name.  So, let’s see what you can make for ten dollars or less.”

 Ten dollars isn’t so bad.  When you’re a single mom you learn to live on a budget and you’d be surprised what you can squeeze out of every cent.

 Ten bucks isn’t too bad.  Heck I’ve spent less on a date.

“But that’s not all chefs,” Bela said with a wicked glint in her eye.  “Follow us.”

The chefs filed out from behind their stations and followed Bela into the hallway behind the set.  Even when he saw the vending machines, Dean didn’t clue in to what was about to happen.

“Cheftestants,” Bela said, looking directly as Dean when she said it.  He suspected she knew he disliked the term.  “You’re looking at your grocery store for this challenge.”

Dean looked at the snack and drink vending machines.  His jaw dropped.  He could sense the general air of dismay coming from his fellow chefs.

“The only things you will have access to in the kitchen are salt, pepper, cooking oil, and water.  All your other ingredients must come solely from these two machines.  And you can only use what you can afford with your ten dollar budget.”

“I’ll draw your names from the chef’s hat and that will determine the order in which you will go shopping.  First up is Zachariah.”

“Lucky me,” the man muttered.

Bela handed him ten one dollar bills and he stood in front of the machine with a frown on his face.  Dean let his eyes roam over the contents of the snack machine.  He started formulating a plan, but the longer his name wasn’t called and the sparser the selection became, he started to feel a little despair.  As it turned out he was called dead last and had quite slim pickings.  He went to the drink machine first to try to buy a Sprite, but it was sold out.  He glanced over at the few remaining salty items in the snack machine and bought an orange soda.  It would be cloyingly sweet, but if he made a sort of caramel out of it and used it sparingly, it might actually work to his advantage.  So, since he was now doing a dessert, he bought three Honey Buns, a package of orange flavored Hostess cupcakes, and a bag of Cheez-Its.

Back in the kitchen they were given a thirty minute time limit and set to work.  Dean got a sauté pan heating up and poured most of the orange soda into it.  Then he pulled apart the cupcakes and scooped the orange cream out and set it aside.  He mixed the Honey Buns, cupcakes, and a little bit of orange soda together to make a kind of sort of not really dough.  Then he shaped it into balls and used his finger to create a hole which he then filled with the orange cream.  He sealed the balls back up and debated whether to bake them or attempt to fry them.  He opted for the frying pan and was pleasantly surprised to see they crisped up a little, caramelizing nicely from the sugar glaze of the Honey Buns.  He checked his orange caramel and it was reducing nicely.  He crushed up the bag of Cheez-Its and plated his creation.  With the last few seconds he drizzled the sticky orange soda reduction over the fried pastries and sprinkled some of the Cheez-Its on top for crunch and just a bit of salt.  He stepped back when time was called with his hands on his waist.  He was actually impressed with what he’d made.  Then he realized he actually had no idea how it tasted.  He had broken one of the cardinal rules of cooking: taste, taste, taste.

He kept wiping his brow as Missouri and Bela made their way down the line, but the nervous sweat wasn’t dissipating.  When at last they made it to his station he described what he had made and then said, “I call them my Orangey, Crunchy Balls.”

Aaron swallowed a laugh next to him, and that made him laugh.  Missouri fixed a hard look on him and Dean instantly sobered.

“Don’t get fresh with me, boy.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Mm,” Bela said, licking her fingers.  “I like your Balls, Dean.”

Everyone repressed laughter and Dean answered Bela’s suggestive smirk with a wink.  He bit his lip and looked at his toes when he saw Missouri’s pointed look.  The woman didn’t comment further though as she and Bela took their places at the front of the kitchen.

“Now, chefs, I’m sure you have a greater appreciation for the fine ingredients you get to use from Super Foods, don’t you?” Bela asked.

The chefs all murmured agreement.

“But I must say, considering what you had to work with, we had some very interesting dishes today.  Missouri, why don’t you share with us your favorite and least favorite dishes?”

“Well, Bela is right; you all did a pretty good job with a very difficult challenge.  However, there are a couple that fell a bit short.  Zachariah, you had some clever ideas for swapping out the traditional components of a sandwich with their vending machine counterparts, but all you did was stack them together.  I was looking for you to transform the ingredients.”

 I don’t care that I’m in the bottom for this challenge.  I’m a gourmet chef.  I don’t cook with subpar ingredients.

“Meg, I’m sorry, dear, but your stir fry just turned out oily and soggy.”

 Well, you try cooking with *beep* out of a vending machine.

“And who is in your top three?” Bela asked.

“Aaron, your play on beef wellington was quite astonishing.  The flavor you managed to pull out of that rehydrated beef jerky was quite good and using the combination of cookie and potato chip crumbs to make the ‘puff pastry’ was masterfully done.  I was quite impressed.”

“Thank you, Chef,” Aaron said, beaming.

“Tracy your casserole was a frightening mix of ingredients, but the texture and the taste you managed to create were nothing short of amazing.”

Tracy bounced lightly on her toes, pressing her hands down on the metal counter to keep herself from outright jumping up and down.

“And as much as I hate to give him and his Balls any more attention…”

The group laughed and Dean grinned at Missouri.

“That was a pretty tasty dessert.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“And who is your winner, Missouri?”

“The winner of this Warm Up Challenge is…Aaron.  Your ingenuity was quite impressive.”

 Well, to be fair I did have a bit of an advantage in this round. In college I did acquire quite a familiarity with foods that would be associated with, shall we say, the “munchies.”

 Amazing.  She said my dish was **amazing**.  What do I have to do to get a win around here?

“Congratulations, Aaron, you now have immunity and can’t be eliminated in tomorrow’s Elimination Challenge.  Missouri, will you tell us what that is?”

“I started out in the industry as a waitress in my father’s diner, and when he died unexpectedly, I took over for him.  I realized that the business was barely staying afloat and that we were in danger in closing very soon.  I realized we needed to bring in more customers and I knew the way to do that was, quite frankly, to make better food—but still make diner food.  Diners get a bad rap in the culinary world for being nothing more than greasy heart attacks on a plate.  But diner food can be so much more if you have the skill and the creativity to make it so.  I own a diner on the Miami strip and for your challenge I want you all to come up with an entrée and side that will fit on my menu.  Because…you will be serving it to real patrons during normal hours and the customers will be rating each dish.  The customers’ ratings will be a factor during judging, so don’t just make five good plates.”

The chefs chuckled.

“You’ll have fifteen minutes to plan,” Bela said, “and then we’re going to Super Foods.  You’ll have thirty minutes to shop—“

The chefs let out soft groans of relief at the extra time.

“—and a budget of one hundred and fifty dollars.  You’ll be expected to feed fifty diner patrons plus the judges.  Then we’ll come back to the kitchen and you’ll have two hours to prep.  Tomorrow you’ll be taken to the diner in shifts and you’ll have thirty minutes of prep time before you’ll start serving.  And remember, chefs, this is a diner so even though you may have your entrée planned out exactly as you like it, your dishes will have to be made to order.”

There was a soft collective groan from the contestants.  Bela and Missouri waved goodbye and as soon as the swinging doors were shut behind them Zachariah said, “I don’t even know what the hell diner food is.”

Dean rolled his eyes.  What a snob.  He knew what he was making already.  One of the great things about diners is that they served breakfast all day, and one of the great things about Miami is that it had a lot of Latin influence and the people had palates that could handle a little heat.  He was going to make a play on huevos rancheros.  He could just imagine his father’s reaction to him “ruining” a perfectly good plate of eggs with some sort of red crap.

When they headed out to the minivans, Dean maneuvered Cas to get on first so they could sit in the backseat.  Charlie jumped in front of Aaron and followed them to the back row.  She gave him an exaggerated wink and he rolled his eyes.  The drive to the grocery store wasn’t very long, but he was going to appreciate every minute he could spend pressed up next to Cas without a camera crew poking its long-lens nose in their business.  Dean looked down as he contemplated putting his hand on Cas’ leg, but then he noticed that the man was twisting his hands together anxiously.

“What’s the matter, Cas?”

“I have no idea what I’m doing.  I don’t even have a grocery list started.”

“Well, you might want to get on that, buddy.”

“Oh, you think?” Cas asked, but there was no malice in it.  “I don’t know what diner food is.  I mean, is it just hamburgers and stuff?”

“Well, it depends on the kind of diner, but you know hamburgers, sandwiches, salads, breakfast items.  Pie.”

Aaron turned around to face them and Dean pulled his creeping hand back.

“You know anything about Greek food?” he asked.

Cas tilted his head.  “A little.  I had a friend who had a Greek grandmother and she would often cook for us.”

“A lot of diners have Greek traditional dishes on their menus.  Probably not a diner set up by a Southern black woman, but hey, then at least you know you won’t be duplicating anything already on the menu.”

“I guess I could attempt a moussaka.”

“I don’t know if an Elimination Challenge is when you want to try something you’ve never made before,” Charlie said.

Cas groaned.  “This is going to be a disaster.”

“No, it’s not,” Dean said, mostly for his own benefit because he would not be a happy camper if Cas was eliminated when everything was still so new between them.  Though, maybe it would be beneficial since he could sneak down the hall to see him and they wouldn’t have to worry about cameras at all.  But then there was that rule about not being in contact with the eliminated contestants.  Damn it.  “Look, diner food is the kind of food people indulge in when they want something that reminds them of home cooking.”

“Well…” Aaron trailed off.

“Close enough anyway,” Dean said with a wave of his hand.  “Just think about a dish that reminds you of home.  Is there anything your mom used to make for you?”

“Well…I do remember making Shepherd’s Pie with her.”

“Perfect!” Charlie said.  “Shepherd’s Pie is totally diner food.  It’s also pub food too.  Oh!  We all should totally go to Ireland when this is over.”

“Ireland?” Dean asked.

“Yeah.  It is not England.  The food is great, the beer is better, and there’s live music every night.”

“I’d like to go back to Ireland,” Cas said.

“You’ve been?” Dean asked.

Cas nodded with a far away dreamy look in his eye.  “Met a redhead named Molly.  It was a good trip.”

He chuckled and came back to himself.  He glanced at Dean and his smile disappeared.  Dean faced forward and crossed his arms over his chest, quite sure his death scowl was still in place.

“What a coincidence!  I met a redhead named Maggie!” Charlie laughed.  “And it was a very good trip.”

Thankfully they arrived at the grocery store before she could go into details regarding that encounter.  Dean thought it was a little odd that he didn’t want to hear about hot redhead on redhead action, but that’s when he realized he had officially classified Charlie as a little sister.  He made a face.  He’d never wanted a little sister before.  Not that he wanted one now or anything.  He shook off that thought and collected his money from a producer as he got out of the van.

While the extra ten minutes in the store did help, time still flew by and Dean found himself already tired and stressed by the time they got back to the kitchen.  He was going to be serving his dish with fresh guacamole, salsa, and black beans as a side.  He never had a moment to spare as he worked on getting the beans cooked, the salsa components chopped, and his rancheros sauce bubbling on the stove in two large vats.  He also took the risk prepping his avocados and soaking them in lime juice to help prevent browning.  He just wouldn’t have time tomorrow to remove the pits and skins of dozens of avocados during service.  Everything was going smoothly until he put the last batch of his rancheros sauce in the blender to smooth out the last chunks of tomato.  He didn’t get the lid on completely and when he turned the blender on an explosion of steaming hot red sauce splattered all over his hair, face, clothes, and work station.

“Son of a bitch!”

There was a smattering of applause from around the kitchen and he told them all exactly where to shove it as he did his best to wipe off his face and hair with a towel.  He secured the lid on the blender and blended what sauce was still left inside and then added it to the rest of his stock.  He was still sticky when everything was packed up and stored for the night.  He was able to turn in his chef’s coat for washing, but some of it had dripped down the back of his neck and he could feel where he’d missed some on his neck and jaw.  He didn’t even want to think about his hair.

When they got back to the condo he announced he was taking a shower and if anyone tried to get in the bathroom before him he was going in with them.  Aaron had laughed and asked if that was an invitation.  Dean had given him a patented Winchester smile, but refrained from actually commenting when he saw Cas’ arched eyebrow.  Just as he was entering the bathroom, Cas put a hand on his arm and pulled him close.  Dean closed his eyes and swallowed a moan as Cas licked a warm stripe up his neck.  He stepped back, smacking his lips.

“The sauce is good,” he commented, and then walked away.

Dean let out a strangled laugh and closed the bathroom door.  His hands were busy for the next ten minutes, but he wasn’t washing his hair (timestamp available).  Feeling clean and relaxed and just a little pervy for the kinds of things his mind had come up with to do to Cas, Dean exited the bathroom and changed into his sleep sweatpants and Black Sabbath T-shirt.  He padded barefoot through the condo and heard most everyone in the kitchen preparing dinner.  He started in that direction, but stopped when he looked out onto the balcony and saw Cas and Meg talking.  They were sitting on separate lounge chairs, but Cas was smiling and laughing as Meg held her hair twisted up in one hand and gesticulated wildly with the other.  He was at a crossroads here.  Did he go out there scowling and pissy and possibly tick Cas off by implying that he didn’t trust him, which he totally did, he just didn’t trust Meg.  Or should he go out trying to play it all nonchalant, which maybe Cas would interpret as him just being jealous, which did seem to be a turn on for him.  Or he could be a grown up about it and let the two of them have a frickin conversation together.  The decision was taken out of his hands when Kevin turned around and leaned over the back of one of the couches in the living room.

“Hey, dude.  You might want to go to the computer alcove.  I was going to call my mom, and she wasn’t on, but I thought her icon was green so I clicked on it but it was actually your brother and he answered.”

“Oh, has he been waiting this whole time?”

“Not exactly.  I told him I called by mistake and he said it was fine.  And we actually chatted a little bit.  He’s nice.  And really smart.”

“Okay.  You officially get to be the President of the Sam Fan Club.  I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, well, Tracy saw me talking to him, and she kicked me out and I think she’s still in there.”

“Super,” Dean sighed and walked to the front of the condo.  When he got to the corner by the alcove he paused and listened in.  It was his God-given right as a big brother to eavesdrop on his little brother’s conversations.

“What good is teaching kids Shakespeare nowadays?  It’s practically a dead language at this point,” Tracy said.

Sam laughed.  “But the stories are so universal and relatable.  It’s fantastic literature.”

“Maybe.  But why teach it in old English?”

“Elizabethan English.”

“Whatever.  Like, if you want kids to understand and relate to the characters and the theme and whatever, why make them struggle with the language?  Why not just translate it all into modern English?  Like, if the stories are really that great, they’ll still be great.”

“I suppose so.  But part of what makes Shakespeare great is that he wrote in iambic pentameter and—“

“Blah, blah, I know fancy writing.  But how come they’ll teach kids something that’s in an antiquated form of English, but won’t include Spanish language novels in their literature courses even though about half of the students in America speak Spanish as their first language?”

“Uh, I don’t know.  I guess because it’s called English?”  Sam laughed uneasily.

“So call it literature.  But then I suppose people like you would be out of a job because you couldn’t teach the Spanish part of the class.”

“Hey, I speak Spanish.  Sort of.”

“Oh yeah?” Tracy asked with a lilt in her voice.

“Mi nombre es Sam.  Aprendí español en la escuela secundaria.”

“Aww!  That’s so cute!  You think you speak Spanish.”

Sam laughed.  “Shut-up.  It’s been years since I took it in high school.”

Tracy laughed too and then there was a lull in the conversation where the two of them must just be looking at each other.  Dean made face.  Were they flirting?  He threw himself around the corner with a hand knock on the wall.

“Hey, guys, what’s up?”

“Hi, Dean!” Sam said with a little wave.

Tracy slid out of the chair and Dean really tried not to notice how short her sleep shorts were and how skimpy her tank top was.  He failed.

“So your brother was telling me that I have him pegged all wrong because he’s some great expander of young minds.”

“Did he convince you?” Dean asked with a smirk.

Tracy shrugged a shoulder and flipped her hair over her shoulder.  “Later, Sam.”

“Goodnight, Tracy.”

Dean shook his head and sat down in the chair.  Sam was leaning in his chair like he would be able to see around Dean to watch her go.  When Sam finally put his attention back on him he said, “Dude.  No.”

Sam laughed.  “What?  It’s harmless.  I’m in Texas, she’s in Florida.  It’s just a little fun.”

“Mm-hmm.  You know she’s like twenty-two, right?”

“So?  I’m only twenty-eight.  That’s only six years.”

“Dude.  No.”

Sam put his hands in the air.  “Okay, okay.  So, how’s the competition going?”

“Really well actually.  They all still seem to think I can cook or something.”

“Dean…”  Sam cut off his exasperated lecture voice and just smiled.  “Well, I’m sure they’ll realize their mistake soon enough.”

“Shut up, bitch.”

Sam smiled.  “Love you too, bro.”

He signed out and Dean made a face at the blank screen.  He stood up muttering about uppity little brothers and how that chick in _Labyrinth_ had been an idiot for going after hers in the troll kingdom of whatever.  Not that he had ever seen that movie or anything.

Dinner was another group affair and it went pleasantly enough although they did have to talk Kevin down from a stress induced anxiety attack.  The kid tried way too hard to make every little detail perfect in his cooking.  Dean thought the secret to cooking was just knowing the basics and then going with your instincts.  And not confusing the salt and sugar.  That was a crucial one.

Since the first round of chefs had to be out the door by 5:00am to be at the diner in time for the 6:00am opening, the usual people who stayed up late to share a glass of wine or two decided to turn in with the early birds.  Dean was one of the unlucky ones to draw the first round of service, but he knew he’d be fine because he was going to get at least four hours of sleep in.

With his teeth scrubbed clean he met Cas in the hall as they walked to their room.  Cas shoved him playfully and Dean laughed and nudged him back.  At the door to their room Benny met them on the way out.

“Just so the two of you know, I am going to be in that bathroom for exactly ten minutes.”

He narrowed a friendly eye at them and Dean gave him a pat on the back as he walked down the hall.

“Don’t worry, man.  You got nothing to worry about.”

Still chuckling, Dean stepped inside the room and shut the door.  And then he gasped in complete shock as he was shoved against the door with alarming strength, Cas’ hands fisted in his T-shirt and his lips attacking his.  Dean was stunned, but not unprepared.  He kissed back and this time tongues were immediately involved as they probed into each other.  Cas used some sort of weird cinnamon flavored toothpaste, but Dean wasn’t complaining as he tasted sweet and spicy.  He sucked on his tongue and loved the quiet, desperate moan that spilled from Cas’ lips and onto his.  He ran his hands down Cas’ back and didn’t stop until he had two handfuls of that cute ass he’d been dying to get a hold of for over three months now.  Cas wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and easily hopped into his arms, wrapping his legs around his waist.  Dean took the one and a half steps it took to get to his bed and laid them out on it.  It was a little awkward since it was a twin mattress and basically only their torsos fit on it from their perpendicular position.  Dean grunted and pulled away, grabbing one of Cas’ legs and twisting him so he was lengthwise on the mattress, and then he settled himself in between his legs, going right back for his delicious, perfect lips.  He wasn’t wearing anything underneath his sweats and it was just way too easy to slot himself against the groove where Cas’ thigh met his groin and rut against him in slow, grinding circles.

Cas pulled his lips from Dean and gasped, “Wait, wait.  We can’t—we can’t get too carried away.”

Dean flexed his fingers where they were twined with Cas’ and pinning Cas’ hands to the mattress above his head.

“You’re the one who went slamming people against doors,” Dean growled.

“Mmn.  I know.  I’m sorry, but I really couldn’t help myself.”

“I can’t help myself now,” Dean murmured, licking at his neck, searching for the perfect spot to leave a mark.

“Come on, Dean,” Cas said and arched against him.

Dean groaned and stopped moving.  He counted to five and then sat up.  Cas did too and slid back a little, folding one leg up into his lap.

“I’m sorry, Dean.  I really don’t mean to…”

“Be such a cocktease?”

Cas shoved him on the shoulder, and then made guilty face.  “Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

Dean laughed softly.  “No, it’s fine.  Sorry I got carried away.”

Cas scooted closer.  “Don’t be.  That was awesome.”

Dean laughed louder.  “You’re an easy guy to please, Cas.”

Cas smiled and put a hand behind Dean’s neck, scratching his nails lightly over his skin, making him shiver.

“I’m easy to please when people follow my directions.”

Dean’s lips parted and his groin throbbed with a sudden pulse of lust.  Was Cas implying…

“I’m done in the bathroom!” Benny’s voice carried faintly through the door from down the hall.

Cas leaned forward and kissed Dean’s parted lips and then slid off the bed.  By the time Benny came in the room they were both in their own beds and looking innocent as can be.  Because the sheets were pulled over their laps.

***

Dean was energized by the fast paced rush of the morning crowd.  He was in his element in a kitchen slinging together his food in his own way.

It took a little getting used to a differently organized kitchen, but he found himself forgetting he was in a competition for a little bit.  Meg didn’t seem to be enjoying the fact that she was sweating so much, but Dean was more disappointed that he hadn’t been able to see what she looked like as a normal human being.  Even at five in the morning she had had perfectly styled hair and flawless makeup.  She looked a little less put together now, but she was still looking better than most women did on their best days.

“Hey, Winny,” one of the servers leaned over the kitchen window.  Dean gritted his teeth against the nickname.  He’d lost that battle about an hour and a half ago.  “I got another one for you.  Fire up huevos rancheros, hold the rancheros.”

Dean froze and turned to face Hector.  “Say that again?”

Hector shrugged.  “Huevos rancheros.  Hold the rancheros sauce.  I don’t understand these gringos man.”

Dean rolled his eyes up into his head but set about preparing what had to be one of his last servings.  He’d lost count in the thirties and the judges had already eaten, so he had to be close to done now.  He set the plate with the naked eggs down on the serving window and frowned at it.  When Hector came back for it he told him to wait a moment and filled a small bowl with the rancheros and placed it on the side.  Within a few minutes Hector was back, asking for another side of sauce.  Dean almost didn’t want to give it to the stupid customer out of spite, but his service was ended and he might as well not waste what was left.

He and Meg passed off the kitchen to Charlie and Benny and then were driven back to the studio to do their confessionals.  By the time they got back to the condo, Cas had already left for the diner.  He wandered out onto the balcony and collapsed onto a chaise, soaking up the warm sun into his skin.  He opened one eye when he heard Meg sit in the chaise beside him, but then closed it as she did nothing but lay still.  Dean listened to the endless roll of the waves and found himself being lulled into a nice mid-morning nap.

“Tell me about yourself, Winchester.”

Dean jerked awake and scowled at the interruption.  “What?  Why?”

“I just want to know what’s so great about you that Cas chose you over me.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No, not really.”

“Well, then I guess it’ll have to remain a mystery.”

There was a pause, and then Meg said, “Fair enough.”

***

For the first time in the competition, all the contestants were brought into the room at the same time for judging.  They were called up in their cooking pairs and Dean and Meg were first.

“Well,” Naomi said, “you two were a great start to the morning.  Your dishes were well thought out and prepared, and more importantly, service was timely and professional.  I have no idea what happened in that kitchen after the two of you left, but it went downhill quickly.”

Dean raised his eyebrows.  No one had talked much about the challenge when they were altogether again, but he hadn’t heard anyone say it had been a disaster.

“Meg,” Crowley said, “Why did you decide to go with steak and eggs for your dish?”

Meg’s manicured brows twitched slightly.  “It’s what my father and brothers would order after coming back from a fishing trip.  It’s a hearty meal and I thought I could put a twist on it and make it something new.”

“You may have twisted a little too hard, dear.”

 I’m going to punch him in his stupid British face.

“I disagree,” Gabriel said.  “I thought the idea of cutting a hole in the steak and serving the egg inside it like egg-on-toast was a brilliant idea.  The yolk and the seasoning on the steaks went very well together.”

“Thank you, Chef.”

“I agree,” Missouri said.  “It was one of my favorite of the day.  Unfortunately, the diners were split on it.  And there was some inconsistency with the doneness of both the egg and the steak.”

“They were all made to order, so…”

“Yes, but some eggs were a little too runny and the definition of medium rare sometimes leaned to the side of rare.”

Dean could tell that Meg bit her tongue and chose not to respond.

“Dean!” Gabriel said.  “Your huevos rancheros…loved it!”

“Thank you.”

“I really liked it too,” Missouri said.  “I don’t have any Tex-Mex items on my menu, so the regulars really enjoyed the chance to try something new and liked it a lot.”

“I will say that the beans were a tad under seasoned,” Crowley said.

Dean ran his tongue over his teeth.  Those beans had been perfect.

“You also received a few comments on the diner surveys about the sauce being just a little too hot,” Naomi said.

 I don’t cook for the weak.

“Overall though, it was a very pleasant breakfast.”

Dean and Meg returned to their places in the group and Charlie and Benny went next.

“Benny,” Missouri started right away, “who taught you how to cook gumbo?”

“My grandmammy taught me the recipe she learned from her grandmammy, ma’am.”

Dean held his breath as he looked at the judges’ faces.

“It was the best gumbo I have ever had in my life, boy.  It was so good it made me angry!”

Dean exhaled softly and saw the tension leave Benny’s shoulders as well.

“I am not at all a fan of this ‘delightful’ American dish,” Crowley said, “but you might have converted me.”

“It was my second favorite for sure after Dean’s,” Gabriel said.

“The technique used was perfect,” Naomi added.  “I did find one shrimp tail in my bowl, but it’s easily overlooked.”

 If it’s so easily overlooked why bring it up?

“Well done.”  Naomi looked at Charlie.  “Charlie.”

Charlie cringed.  “Yes, Chef?”

“What happened back there?”

“I had a little trouble working around the other line cooks.  I’m afraid I’m not used to working in such crowded conditions and I dropped my entire pot of gravy on the floor.  There was supposed to be gravy served with the chicken fried chicken.”

“And it needed it,” Gabriel said.  “That chicken was so bland!”

“I know.  It was a white sausage gravy, so I didn’t use much salt in the chicken batter because I was afraid the gravy would make it too salty and I totally forgot about that after the chaos and…”

She trailed off and Missouri smiled kindly at her.  “It’s okay, dear.  These kinds of things happen.  Fortunately those creamy, garlic mashed potatoes were divine.  And the chicken itself was well cooked.  The only real complaint people had was that it needed a little salt, but once they added their own they liked it a lot.”

 I will take that.  To be honest, I was expecting a much worse critique.

Charlie bobbed her head and she and Benny returned to ranks.

Jody and Kevin were up next.

“Kevin,” Crowley said, “are you familiar with American diners?”

“Yes.”

“How many would you say serve lo mein?”

“Not many.  I was trying to make a diner version of a classic Chinese dish.”

“And how do you think that went?”

“Better than terrible but worse than good.”

“Well, I’ll agree with you there.”

“Kevin, baby, Kevin,” Gabriel said.  “I’m not sure how this came to be, but I don’t think you should attempt to mix gyro meat and tzatziki sauce with soy sauce flavored noodles.”

“Yeah, it didn’t exactly start that way, but unforeseen events kind of forced my hand.”

“Boy,” Missouri said, “I don’t even know what to say about it.  However, ten diners did seem to enjoy it.”

 Ten people liked Greek Lo Mein.  I’m speechless.

“Jody,” Naomi said, “your club sandwich was good.  The dressing you made for it was the best part—it was tangy and original.  But at the end of the day, it was just a club sandwich.”

“And it took nearly twenty minutes to get one,” Crowley said.  “How did service get so backed up?”

“I misplaced my toothpicks and they weren’t with me at the diner.  So, when I built the sandwiches, they kept falling over.  I had to reorganize how I built them which meant pulling apart the first several orders and re-dressing the bread and restacking…and once I got behind I just couldn’t catch up.”

“I quite liked the sandwich,” Missouri said, “and so did several diners.  But like Naomi said, it wasn’t really all that original.  And there were several complaints about the wait time.”

 A toothpick, a toothpick.  My kingdom for a toothpick.

 And that’s why we still teach Shakespeare in high school.

After Kevin and Jody, Aaron and Cas walked stiffly up to the judges.  Dean raised an eyebrow.  Things already looked tense and the judges hadn’t even started yet.

“So, there’s a little confusion amongst us judges,” Gabriel said.  “We both had wonderful dishes from both of you.  Cas, your Shepherd’s Pie was deliciously seasoned and the layers were the perfect proportion.  And Aaron your holishkes were a wonderful update of a traditional cabbage roll.  However, there was an alarming amount of shouting and clattering coming from the kitchen and half of the diners said your food was good and the other half said it was absolutely horrid!  What happened back in the kitchen?”

Cas and Aaron wouldn’t look at each other or the judges, and neither seemed inclined to speak first.

“Well,” Missouri said sharply.  “I’d like to know what you gentlemen did to my kitchen.”

“ **Somehow** ,” Cas said with a sidelong look at Aaron, “the oven on my second batch of pies was turned up to almost six hundred degrees and everything was grossly overcooked.  I probably shouldn’t have served them at all.”

“And **somehow** ,” Aaron echoed Cas’ tone, “a box of salt was dumped right into the filling for my holishkes.  I tried to scoop out as much as I could, but there weren’t enough ingredients to make more.  So, I had to hope I got enough of it out.  Apparently I didn’t.”

“And what about all that God awful racket we heard?”

Aaron and Cas glanced away again and kind of shrugged.

 I wasn’t anywhere near that salt.

 I never even went on his side of the kitchen. How would I reach the dials on his oven?

 Okay, I used the salt once and put it right back where I found it.  It’s his own fault for sticking it on a shelf above where he was cooking.

 I did walk over **once** to get something out of the refrigerator.  Maybe the edge of my coat pulled on one of the knobs.

 Guy’s just a sore loser.

 Cas just can’t keep his hands off things that someone else is…using.

“Well,” said Crowley.  “We enjoyed your dishes, but you had two of the lowest scores from the patrons and the dining experience was greatly diminished by whatever was happening in that kitchen.  We’re not even sure how to judge you.”

Cas and Aaron turned and walked petulantly back to their spots.  Aaron looked at him a little disappointedly, and Dean was a little confused by it until he saw the dark, possessive look Cas sent in his direction before taking up his place at the end of the line.  Dean blinked rapidly.  Had those two had a cat fight over him in the diner kitchen?

Last up were Zachariah and Tracy.  If their body language was anything to go by, their critiques should be the worst of the bunch.  Which was really saying something.

“Zachariah,” Naomi started and then stopped.  She looked to Gabriel.

Gabriel inhaled, and then exhaled.  He looked at Crowley.  Crowley shrugged and turned to Missouri.  Missouri clasped her hands together and pursed her lips in confusion as she looked at Zachariah.  The man nodded.

“I know,” he said.

 I don’t want to talk about it.

“Tracy,” Missouri started, “did you have trouble using the deep fryer?”

The young woman’s shoulders slumped even more.  “No, it wasn’t the fryer itself, it was the hush puppies.  The batter I made couldn’t hold up to the frying and the first ones all disintegrated.  By the time I got the mixture thick enough to survive the frying, they were really dense.”

“Why didn’t you consider trying to fry them in a pan?” Gabriel asked.

“I didn’t think I’d have the time to do that for every order.  I also had to fry catfish.”

“I have to be honest with you,” Naomi said.  “The fish was overdone and the breading completely fell off.”

“It also didn’t have a whole lot flavor,” Crowley said.  “And there was a bone in mine.”

“Mine as well,” Missouri said.  “I’m very grateful none of the diners seemed to find any.  Those can be very dangerous if swallowed.”

“Yes, ma’am, I know.”

There was silence for a few moments and then Bela said, “Zachariah, Tracy, thank you.  You can return to your spots.”

Bela stood up from the table and Tracy and Zachariah returned to the group.  Bela picked up the spatula canister and stood in front of the judges’ table.

“Chefs, we’ve already discussed your dishes and factored in the diners’ score cards.  Missouri, would you like to do the honors?”

Missouri got up from the table and took the number one spatula from the container.  “The winner of today’s challenge was not only the diners’ favorite dish, but the judges’ as well.”

“Not unanimously,” Gabriel called out.

Missouri shot him a look and he sunk back down in his seat.  “The chef with today’s best dish, and the one I hope to wrestle the secret recipe out of, is Benny and his gumbo!”

Dean gave Benny a pat on the shoulder and the man walked up to receive his spatula.

“What do you say, Benny?  You gonna share that recipe with the world?”

“I would love to, ma’am.  All they got to do is visit me at _Andrea's Skiff_  in Carencro, Louisiana.”

Missouri let out a small, pretend huff of annoyance, and then gave him a hug before sending him off in the direction of the prize tree.  Dean grinned as he watched the cameraman crowd Benny’s back and the man made a funny face.

“Dinner for two at any one of Naomi Milton’s restaurants, and the airfare and lodging needed to dine there.”  Benny looked up at Naomi with a smile going up the side of his face.  “You still got that place in Paris, Ms. Milton?”

“I do, Mr. Lafitte.”

Benny grinned and flapped the envelope at the other contestants.  Everyone pouted.  That was a great prize, though Dean probably would have picked the one in New York City, mainly because the average ticket price was rumored to be over five hundred dollars for two people.  He’d rather spend the money on food than hurtling through the air in a metal tube of death.

After Benny was in place, Meg was called, followed by Charlie.  Dean shifted his weight uneasily, but he was called next.

“Dean,” Bela said, “you should know that your dish was a close second to Benny’s with the judges—“

“First for me!” Gabriel called out.

“—but yours was downgraded by some of the diners for the heat.”

“And really,” Naomi said, “rancheros sauce is meant to be mild.”

Next came Jody, Kevin, Cas, and Aaron.  Zachariah and Tracy stepped forward.

“Zachariah, your attempt at turning foie gras and caviar into diner food was, to say the least, unorthodox.  And unfortunately it did not work.  Tracy, you had fried fish and hush puppies.  Two relatively simple dishes that came out bland, over cooked, and in the case of the hush puppies, almost inedible.  We had to look at not which dish was the greatest failure, but which one showed creativity and skill.  Zachariah, while your flavors were just not blending, you did cook everything well.  And so for that reason,” Bela turned over the spatula and showed his name.  The other contestants gasped softly in shock.  “—we chose to save you.  Congratulations, you’re still in the running to becoming America’s Next Top Chef.”

Zachariah took the spatula and walked over to the group.

“I’m sorry, Tracy, that means you’re out.  Please return to the kitchen and pack up your knives.”

Tracy’s face had gone quite pinched and she gave a short bob of her head.  Then she turned to the other contestants and gave them a little wave before walking out without saying anything.  Everyone stood a little awkwardly.  Everyone, including Zachariah, had been surprised with the judges’ decision.

 I think this experience has made me realize how much I want this.  And that if I’m going to win this, I need to take every challenge seriously.  From now on, you’ll see nothing but the best quality work from me.

 This sucks.  That’s all there really is to say.  I mean, I could complain that he made a really disgusting dish, but they were right about mine.  Fried catfish and hush puppies are something America’s Next Top Chef should be able to make in their sleep.  I guess I’m just not there yet.

 But I’m not giving up.  You will see me again, America.

***

“Ho-lee crap that panel was as bad as the wedding reception one,” Kevin said.

“It wasn’t **that** bad,” Dean said.

“Yeah that’s easy for you to say,” Jody said as she nudged Dean with her shoulder.

Charlie hopped up onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter of the condo and leaned heavily on her elbow.  “I’ve never seen something so horrific in my life,” she said.  “It was like one of those androids in _Alien_ had bled out all over the floor.”

Dean smiled and ruffled her hair affectionately.

“Oh, hey,” Jody said.  “Here’s a note from Tracy.”

“How badly does she cuss me out in it?” Zachariah asked with a forced laugh.

“Mm, not at all.  It’s just a brief message saying how much she enjoyed the experience and getting to know all of us.  And then she underlined, ‘Yes, all of you.’  And she wishes us all good luck and hopes that the best chef wins.”

“Did she say who that was?” Kevin asked.

“No.  But she did ask Dean to say hi to his brother for her.”

Dean made a face.  “Ew.”

“Alright,” Meg said, “I’ve been up since four o’clock and I smell like a diner.  I’m showering and going to bed.”

“Hey, good work today,” Cas told her.

“Thanks,” she said, her face transforming from its usual hard smirk to something softer and kinder.  “And good work to you too.  Staking out your territory like that.”

She winked at him and Cas flushed, his eyes darting from Aaron to Dean and then down to the floor.  Aaron rolled his eyes and walked over to the refrigerator.

“I’m gonna have a beer on the balcony.  Anyone else want one?”

“I’ll take one,” Jody said

Charlie raised her hand.

“Yeah, me too,” Dean said.  He sent a look in Cas’ direction.  He made a face while Aaron couldn’t see him and then rolled his eyes.

“I’ll have one too,” Cas said.

“I’ll pass on the beer, but I’d like to join ya’ll outside," Benny said.

Kevin and Zachariah begged off, opting to retire early.  When Aaron handed an opened bottle to Cas, he took it without comment, but then held it with the neck extended toward the other man.  Aaron looked at it, up at Cas, and then clinked his own bottle against Cas’.  Dean didn’t think they would ever be best friends, but at least they were going to bury the hatchet.

Outside there were only five chaise lounges on the front side of the balcony.  Dean could have brought over the sixth one from his and Cas’ corner, but decided to leave it there.  Instead he sat down on one and let one foot fall to the ground, leaving enough space for Cas to sit between his legs and lean back against his chest.  Jody looked at them, and then at the nonchalance of the others.

“Am I the last one to know?” she asked.

“Kevin’s probably still in the dark,” Aaron said.

“And I didn’t even get to enact my awesome code system,” Charlie grumbled.

Dean smiled and turned his face to nuzzle his nose into Cas’ hair.  There was a camera just to his right, but he didn’t mind as he wrapped an arm tightly around Cas’ waist.  Cas snuggled down a little further so that he could rest his head on Dean’s shoulder and so that Dean could see the others.  They talked and laughed and sometimes sat in the silence of the white noise of the ocean.  None of them had ever seen such a beautiful sunrise.


	6. Round 5

“No,” Charlie said, “it’s more like the color of Lion-O’s hair.”

“Nah, it’s softer than that,” Aaron countered.  “Like Daphne.”

“I don’t understand what either of you are talking about,” Benny said flatly.

“The color of the sunrise,” Charlie said.

“I got that,” Benny said.  “But why does it look like hair?”

“Lion-O and Daphne and cartoon characters,” Jody said, “and they have bright orange hair.  Though I would say it looks more like Josie from the Pussycats.”

They all looked at her.

“What?  I have a six year old.”

Dean only heard all this peripherally.  He had both arms wrapped around Cas and his body was a warm, heavy presence against his chest.  But it wasn’t weighing him down or making him feel trapped; it made him feel connected to the man.  Dean considered being uneasy that he was being openly affectionate with someone he barely knew and hadn’t even slept with yet, but that would mean pushing Cas away and keeping his distance from him.  Dean buried his nose again in Cas’ hair, breathing in his slightly salty and cinnamon-y scent.  He nuzzled against him, making him turn his head on Dean’s shoulder and expose the long column of his neck.  Dean dipped his head and kiss-licked the spot behind his ear, and then bit his lip to hold back the groan that threatened to spill out of him when Cas arched against him, rubbing their bodies together.  All of this he would have to give up if he was going to be his default dick self when it came to relationships.  And fuck that.

Cas raised a hand and put it behind Dean’s head, encouraging him to put his lips back on his body.  Dean obeyed and slid one hand from Cas’ waist to his chest, lightly cupping a pectoral muscle.  Cas whipped his head around and pressed their lips together, tongue immediately coming out and teasing Dean’s bottom lip, begging for entrance.  Just as Dean opened up to him they were interrupted and forced to pull apart by a chorus of friendly ribbing from the others on the balcony.

“Do I have to do the cliché?” Charlie asked.  “Get a room.”

“They have a room,” Jody said.  “They should go use it.”

“They do **not** have a room,” Benny said pointedly.

Dean laughed and laid his cheek against Cas’ head, his arms holding him tighter.  He was riding high on the dangerous thrill that this was all too good to be true.  His success in the competition, this man in his arms…he didn’t deserve any of it.  He closed his eyes against those thoughts and held on even tighter.  Cas placed a hand on his arm.

“Dean, are you okay?”

His voice was a little breathy, but not the sexy kind.  Dean immediately loosened his hold.

“Sorry.  Was I hurting you?”

“No.  I’m fine.  I just…”  Cas shifted in his arms and turned on his side so that his back was to the others who were back to trying to define the colors of the sunrise rather than just accepting that it was “sunrise orange.”

“I just want…” Cas trailed off again, his hand running over Dean’s neck, down his chest, past his stomach, and right to the top of his jeans.  Cas closed his eyes and put their foreheads together.  “God, do I **want** …” he moaned softly.

Dean’s lips went slack and his breathing increased minutely.  He kept one hand around Cas’ waist and the other he had balled into a fist on his thigh.  Cas’ hand moved back and forth, but never lower.

“Fuck, I know, Cas…”

Cas squirmed against him and since he was between his legs Dean could do nothing to hide his arousal as it grew against Cas’ hip.  Cas hummed and kissed his cheek, the bolt of his jaw, and his hand turned with his fingers trailing down…

“Here you all are!”

Dean jumped and Cas fell off the chaise with a yelp.  Everyone looked over their shoulders at the sliding glass door to see who had interrupted their peaceful morning.  Bela stood in the frame with a scheming smile and an additional camera crew.

“Did you all get up early to watch the sunrise?” she asked.

“We, uh, we never went to bed,” Charlie told her.

“Oh, my.  That is unfortunate.  I’m afraid you’ll be quite tired today.”

Everyone sat up straighter, their eyes widening with panic.

“Do we have a challenge today?” Jody asked.

“Well, we’re going on a little field trip.  You have five minutes to be ready to walk out the door, chefs.”

She gave them a bright smile and then disappeared inside the condo.  The six people on the balcony sat stunned for a moment, and then they scrambled to their feet and shoved their way inside as they made a mad dash for the bathrooms.

Dean thought it was a little weird peeing while five guys crowded in the same room trying to brush their teeth and freshen up in under five minutes, but then it was also kind of weird brushing his teeth while five dudes took turns peeing behind him.  Even in the Marines there had been some separation of those activities—though he had heard more guys try to quietly jerk off than he’d care to remember.

Dean didn’t even bother changing his clothes; he just put on some fresh deodorant and pulled on his sneakers and was the first to be ready to go.  Bela had her arms crossed over her chest and was smirking at him.  He was familiar with women (and men), and over the course of about nineteen or so years experience of having people look at him with varying levels of attraction, he was easily able to recognize when someone liked him and thought he was cute and when someone wanted a hard fuck and perfunctory “see ya” in the morning.  Bela was currently in the latter category.  Normally Dean would be a flirtatious, cocky bastard around a hot woman that was interested in him (even with his current status with Cas), but he had seen too much of the way she treated people off camera to be even remotely attracted to her.

“So, Dean,” Bela started.  “I didn’t get a proper look when we headed out to the balcony, but it seemed like you and Castiel were awfully cozy.”

Dean considered an array of snarky responses, but decided to just go with a vague smile.  Of course, there had been a camera right in their faces all night as they’d been snuggling on the chaise, and there was no way that wasn’t making the final edit, but that didn’t mean he had to talk about it.  Especially with Bela.

“So, what’s with the early morning ambush?” Dean asked as deflection.

Bela pursed her lips in a smirk, realizing there **was** something to know but he wasn’t going to share.

“It’s a surprise,” she said.

Dean repressed a frown.  He hated surprises.  They were never anything good no matter how much people wanted them to be.  Everything from Sam bringing home a stray when he was nine to Dean’s convoy getting ambushed on the road just outside Fallujah, they always ended badly.

Once the group was finally wrangled out the door, they were stuffed into one large van and driven through the light Saturday morning traffic to a long bridge that stretched out over Biscayne Bay.  Zachariah sat up front talking to the driver.  Meg was working on applying her makeup (and had been for the twenty minute drive thus far) with Jody snoozing next to her.  Aaron, Charlie, and Kevin were all passed out on the middle bench, mouths open, and light snores emanating from all of them.  Dean was in the back with Cas on one side and Benny on the other—both asleep on his shoulders.  Of course he didn’t mind Cas snuggled up next to him, but he was surprised to find he didn’t mind Benny snoring in his ear.  This was a strange group of people and he couldn’t believe that he felt so comfortable with so many of them.  He’d never had many friends growing up and even in the Marines while he’d had brothers in arms and would have died for any one of them, he’d never felt particularly close to any of them.

The van slowed down and made a turn onto a two lane bridge that seemed to be heading out towards a small island in the middle of the bay.  Dean nudged Cas awake.  He came to with a snort and mumbling something about bacon grease.  Dean definitely had a kink for eating food off his partners during foreplay, and now he was forced to wonder if licking bacon grease off of Cas’ quivering body would be awesome or disgusting.  Probably awesome.

“What’s going on?” Cas asked blearily, rubbing his eyes.

“Do you know what that is?” Dean asked, indicating the island in front of them.

Cas squinted but still didn’t look like he was quite comprehending English yet.

“I think it’s Star Island,” Meg said from up front.

“Star Island,” Dean repeated, a little disdainfully.

“Yeah.  It’s a manmade island.  It’s like a community for the super rich and famous."

“So why are **we** going there?” Jody mumbled next to her.

The van stopped at a gatehouse and then they were driving down a street lined with enormous houses.  They pulled into the half circle drive of a gleaming white mansion with a lawn that was almost too green to be real and palm trees that were height coordinated in meticulously arranged circles and arches around the property.  The contestants gaped at the opulence before them.

“This is like a full on Second Life creation,” Charlie said.

“It looks like the kind of place you see on those Don’t You Wish You Lived Here shows on HGTV,” Kevin said with his nose pressed to the window of the van.

“It looks like the kind of place where it’d be awesome to have sex in every room of the house, the pool, the hot tub, and the hammock slung between two palm trees in the backyard,” Meg over-shared.

Dean chuckled and nudged Cas.

“I would never have sex in a hammock,” Cas mumbled quietly.

“But you’re good with the hot tub, right?”

“That seems a little unsanitary.”

“Oh, don’t be one of those.”

Cas turned and scowled at him.  “I’m not ‘one of those,’ whatever that means.  I just know how much it costs to maintain a hot tub.”

Dean stared at him for a moment and then he broke into a grin.  “You own a hot tub, Cas?”

“Shit,” Cas muttered with a bit of resignation.

“I’ve never been to Minnesota before.  I hear it gets very cold up there.”

Cas was fighting back a smile.  “Forget it, Winchester.  Not gonna happen.”

“You mean, ‘gonna happen repeatedly,’ don’t ya, Novak.”

Cas inhaled deeply, his pupils going wide and making his eyes dark with desire.  Dean gently ran his teeth over his bottom lip as he looked at Cas’ lips.  He was starting to lean forward when they were barked at by one of the producers to get out of the van.  They split apart and realized that everyone else had already gotten out and were assembling in front of a camera crew near the stairs leading up to the house.

Dean partially rolled his eyes.  Why couldn’t he have met Cas at the gay bar in Corpus Christi (basically the only gay bar close enough to go to in one night near Kingsville--and it was forty minutes away; maybe he should move to a different state) and had all the time he wanted to get to know the guy?  Well, then, Cas probably would have only been a one night stand and that would have been the end of it.  Maybe this was a blessing in disguise.  He leaned forward and pecked Cas on the lips just to spite the producers before he turned and shimmied his way out from the back seat.  He really was too tall for this crawling around the backseat crap.

Once they were all aligned with the shortest in front of the tallest, the cameras started rolling even though there didn’t appear to be anyone around to give them instructions or clue them in as to why they were standing on some rich person’s lawn at seven freaking thirty in the morning on a Saturday.  Then the doors to the house opened.

Bela pranced down the steps looking especially gorgeous and rich in a bright orange dress with a sleek hairdo.

That part of Dean that would probably still be in him when he was a ninety-five year old man buzzing around in a Rascal regretted that he’d given her the brush off earlier.

“Good morning, cheftestants!”

“Good morning, Bela,” they chorused as one.

“Welcome to my home!”

They had all kind of guessed that must be the case already, but it was still shocking to hear.  The house and grounds had to cost millions of dollars.  Other than a brief appearance on a silly fantasy horror show years ago, all she had done was host and judge on America’s Next Top Chef.  Who knew you could get so rich just by eating food and giving a thumbs up or thumbs down?  Dean seriously needed to rethink his life choices.

“Chefs, I brought you here today because I’m hosting a party for several of my best friends, and we’re going to need some good cocktails.  Your Warm Up Challenge is going to be to come up with a mixed drink for my party.  The winner will receive immunity in the Elimination Challenge and I’ll be serving your creation to all my guests.  Now follow me inside and I’ll show you what you have to work with.”

 Great.  There’s like three former bartenders here.  I didn’t even taste alcohol for the first time until last year.

 An advantage as a former bartender?  Let me explain to you a little something about what the Roadhouse used to be.  It was half a Harley and a mullet away from being a biker bar.  The only mixed drink I ever made there was once when the Thighslapper Ale tap ran out halfway through filling a glass the customer said I could just fill it up the rest of the way with El Sol.  Do not try this at home.

 Well this is awkward.

The contestants walked up the marble staircase and into a large foyer with a sweeping grand staircase to one side and a crystal chandelier overhead.  Art and vases and funky sculptures lined their pathway through the brightly lit home which was done mostly in white with blue, green, and peach accents.  They passed by quite a few rooms and only caught glimpses of them, but they were filled with expensive looking furniture and floor to ceiling windows.

They were led around a circular hallway that opened up into a large room that looked kind of like a reception hall.  It was easily two thousand square feet with high ceilings and even more of those floor to ceiling windows, which had to be insanely expensive in this room considering how tall they had to be.  The floor was off white stone with blue and green glass designs where the tiles met.  A dozen tables with white table clothes were scattered about at the far end of the room while the middle section was left clear and the other end was a full scale, well-stocked bar.  Dean’s eyebrows raised as he read some of the labels on the bottles; every shelf was top shelf in Bela’s bar.

The group was lined up just to the left of the bar, but weren't forced into any particular conformation so Dean took the opportunity to stand behind Cas.  The director took  a few minutes to line up the cameras where he wanted them while Bela loved on and baby-talked a small rat (which Charlie insisted was dog).

Finally they were set up and cameras were rolling.

"Okay, chefs, or should I say mixologists?  Feel free to use any of the liquor, liqueurs, fruits, spices, fresh herbs, and anything else you can find to make your drinks."

Dean used his index finger to nudge Cas in the back.  He got no response.

"A word of advice, if you can't find the liquor you're looking for in my bar, you probably don't want to use it anyway since it would be something I don't like."

Dean dug the knuckle of his index finger into the place just where Cas' back became his buttocks.  He got no response.

"I also am a big fan of presentation.  So, keep that in mind as you plan and serve them up."

Dean lightly ran the back of his hand over the swell of Cas' ass.  He got no response.

The directors called cut and Dean was a little disappointed Cas didn't want to play with him.  Benny raised his hand.

"Will we be able to have access to the kitchen if we need to use a stove?"

Bela said she didn't mind and the producers discussed if it would be too difficult to follow someone into the kitchen with a camera or if it would be an unfair advantage since due to the time limit not everyone would have the opportunity to use the kitchen.  They let the contestants take a vote on it and no one objected, so they decided to redo the explanation of the challenge and Bela would add in that they had access to her kitchen.  The contestants tightened up their formation again and Dean noticed that Cas backed up much closer to him, but with his hands behind his back to keep Dean from messing with him.  What a spoilsport.

As soon as the director called action, Cas' hand reached back discreetly and began massaging his dick through his jeans.  Dean's eyes went wide and he did his best to stand absolutely still and not look like he was a wild-eyed crazy person.  It really was amazing what Cas was able to do with just the tips of his fingers.  He clenched his hands into fists at his side and realized he was about to lose the battle not to pop a cubby on national television.  Well, maybe when they called cut he could just get behind the bar counter and no one would ever know.  No one but Cas and his fucking hand.  A hand that gripped his cock hard, a thumb nudging at the base, trying to stimulate his balls through the thick fabric.

Bela finished her spiel with the additional information and the director called cut.  The contestants began to walk around the bar and Dean rushed over to get behind it first even though the cameras weren't rolling.  He glared at Cas as he walked by completely blank faced and took up a position next to him.

"Not cool, dude," Dean muttered out of the side of his mouth, shifting on his feet and willing his semi-erection to take the hint and go back into hibernation mode.

"Don't serve it if you can't take it," Cas said blithely.

"What I did to you wasn't even remotely similar!" Dean hissed.

"Your objection has been noted will be submitted for review."

Dean frowned at him.  "Your employees must hate you."

Cas looked thoughtful.  "I do get a fruit cake from them every year at Christmas."

Dean narrowed his eyes, unable to tell if his deadpan response was serious or a joke.  Then Cas glanced at him and gave a little smile and a wink.  Dean repressed a laugh and was galled to find himself blushing a little.  He pressed his hands on the counter and kept his eyes down, trying not to draw any attention to himself.  Within a minute the crew was set, the director was calling action, and Bela gave them the very chipper command to begin.

Dean turned around toward the stock shelves to look over his options.  He only did it so that he wouldn't stand there looking like an idiot when everyone else burst into action.  He wasn't kidding when he said he'd never made a mixed drink before, and he certainly had never ordered one before.  Even with all of his other uber-sensitive tendencies, Sam had at least learned how to drink properly.

In his peripheral vision he could see the other contestants running around and pulling out glasses and shakers and bottles of liquor and cutting up fresh fruit.  Dean's palms started to sweat.  He was drawing a blank—a complete and utter blank.  He felt like Ralphie in _A Christmas Story_ —alcohol?  What's alcohol?

Then a recipe popped into his head: five white spirits, sour, cola.  He was pretty sure that was a Long Island Iced Tea.  Gin, rum, tequila, vodka, triple sec, sour mix, and Coke.  He could make that easily, but if he just served a Long Island Iced Tea he'd surely have attention drawn to himself for being lazy or unimaginative.  His goal at the moment was just to avoid being mentioned in the bottom.  Then he realized he could exchange the triple sec for blue Curacao--orange liqueur was orange liqueur only the latter would make the drink a bright blue color.  He'd probably have to swap the Coke out for a clear colored soda, but that wouldn't be a problem.  Add a fun garnish and that was probably good enough.  He set to work finding his base liquors and then stared at the glassware.  How fancy did he want to make this?  He frowned.  This is why he hated girly drinks.

He finished his drink well before the allotted twenty minutes and spent the rest of the time worrying that the ice would melt and water it down.  He decided he was just going to have to not care about this challenge.  The three chefs that had gone to the kitchen to make their drinks barely made it back to the bar before time was called.  Then Bela and one of her friends took turns sampling the drinks.  Dean was wondering who the guest judge was and why they hadn't shown up yet, though Maggie Stark was a well-known socialite from _The Real Housewives of Miami_.

"Well, you all made excellent mixologists," Bela said.  "I actually liked all of the drinks I tasted."

"That's because you never met an alcoholic drink you didn't like," Maggie piped up.

She and Bela laughed but Dean thought perhaps it was a bit strained and affected for the cameras.

"So," Bela continued, "when I say these drinks are my least favorite, they really are just my least favorite as I liked them all.

"Castiel, you're in my bottom three unfortunately.  I liked the color and the presentation, but pineapple isn't my favorite."

 Then why do you have pineapple in your house?

"Jody, I was surprised I liked pear and vanilla flavors together so much, but the specks of black vanilla in the drink was kind of a turn off."

 I guess I can understand that, but it's still stupid.

"Dean, you have made one of the best Long Island Iced Teas I've ever had..."

"Electric Tea," Dean muttered to himself.

"And using the blue Curacao was a clever way to make it bright and fun, but the presentation left a lot to be desired.  And well, I was looking for something a little more exotic."

 And I still wound up in the bottom.

"My favorites were definitely Charlie's Kiwi drink.  It was delicious, refreshing, and very cool to look at.  Meg, the blackberry and lemon flavors were really good, and I loved that rather than using vodka you went with gin to give it some depth in the flavor.  And it's really pretty to look at.  Benny, I was really impressed with your soda.  Even though it doesn't have any alcohol in it, it was so tasty and fun that I didn't even notice it was missing.

"Maggie and I had a very hard time deciding which drink we wanted to be the signature drink a our little shindig, but we've picked the one that we think looked and tasted the best.  Maggie?"

"The cocktail we've decided to serve is...Meg's!  It really is a drink I've never had before and it was very good."

"Congratulations, Meg," Bela said, "you have immunity for the Elimination Challenge.  Also, I would like to say that, Benny, we've also decided to serve your drink as well to have the option of a virgin cocktail.  Good work, cheftestants.  But now it's time to go from mixolgists back to chefs because you all will be catering my party.  It is a little after eight o'clock now and my party is set to begin at five with appetizers and cocktails, and a seven course dinner will be served at seven.  You all have free reign of my refrigerator and pantry and can make whatever you like, but I suggest you all work together to make a cohesive meal.

"You will not be able to make a trip to the grocery store, so if I don't have all the components of what you want to make it might be a good idea to go with Plan B.  You have nine hours until cocktail hour starts, so you all better get started...now!"

The contestants all turned around and panicked for a moment before the others followed the three who knew where the kitchen was through the house.  They spent a good thirty minutes just looking through Bela's extensive pantry and multiple refrigerators.  She had a lot of produce and spices and fresh herbs and multiple proteins, but it was still a little limited in terms of variety.  There was a lot of discussion as to whether the meal should just have a logical order of progression or if there should be some sort of theme.  They selected Meg to act as the executive chef since she had a immunity and she made the decision to go with a Moroccan themed dinner.  Dean had tried to sway them to do something else; he had very limited experience with Mediterranean food and basically zero with Moroccan.  He was overruled.

As the other chefs began saying what type of dish they were going to make and claiming a course of the dinner, Dean hung back frowning, not even caring if he looked like a petulant child when the episode aired.  Then he felt someone stand at his side and looked over and saw Cas smiling at him.  He faced the other chefs and said, "Since there are seven courses and nine of us, why don't you all handle the dinner, and Dean and I will take care of the appetizers."

"Are you familiar with Moroccan food?" Meg asked.

"Yes, I lived in Morocco for six months when I was twenty-three, so I have a few recipes up my sleeve and I could really use another set of hands."

"Excellent.  I'll also teach you how to make the G&T's that won the challenge and you guys can handle those too.  Benny, I think you might need to handle the soda on your own."

"That's fine," Benny replied, "I'm taking the sixth course, so I'll have time to do cocktail hour too."

"Excellent.  Cas, after you've—and Dean—planned out what you will be doing for your appetizers, just run it by me—and the others—before you start doing any prep work."

"Yes, Chef," Cas said with a little grin.  Meg repressed a laugh as she looked at him, and then turned to the others and began organizing them.  Dean didn't like how friendly she and Cas were, but he had to admit Meg knew how to get shit done.

He and Cas made their way back into the pantry to look over their options.  Cas looked over at him a little nervously.

"Is it okay, Dean?  That I kind of just assumed you would be okay with helping me?"

"Are you kidding?  I am definitely not an expert on Moroccan cuisine and I am not too proud to accept help.  Well, at least not too proud to accept help from someone as hot as you."

Cas laughed and shook his head as he rolled his eyes a little.

"Seriously, when you stepped in to save my butt from having to say something stupid in front of the cameras, I could have kissed you."

"Oh yeah?" Cas asked, his inflection rising playfully as he pulled a basket of fresh olives off a shelf.  "So why don't you?"

Dean thought that was a reasonable suggestion.  He grabbed Cas around the waist and pulled him close for a hard kiss.  Cas' lips parted on a noise of surprise, which quickly turned into pleasure.  The basket of olives fell to the floor, the small fruits bouncing across the tile as they wrapped their arms around each other and kept the movement of their lips to a bare minimum so they could just feel each other.

"Hey, hey, hey!"

They broke apart and turned to face Meg (and a camera) in the pantry door.

"None of that in my kitchen, boys.  Now clean off those olives and get to fricken' work!"

Dean and Cas laughed as they bent down to pick up the scattered olives, glancing at each other and trying to pretend like they weren't blushing and smiling like idiots.  They gathered up more supplies, Dean essentially acting as a shopping basket as Cas loaded his arms with various ingredients, and then they headed over to their own corner of the kitchen to begin work.  They decided to make several different traditional spreads that they would serve in ramekins around a plate of fresh, sliced baguettes, and if they had time, homemade naan.  Then they would set the trays out around the party room so that the guests could gather around them and chat, and if they moved on to talk to other people they would be able to land at another appetizer platter.

They made spiced carrot dip, tomato jam, olive tapenade, garlic hummus, and zaalouk which was made with eggplant, tomatoes, olive oil, garlic, cumin, cilantro, and cayenne pepper.  Dean was not really a fan of foreign tasting foreign cuisine.  It was one thing to eat a sausage in Germany and a fried ball of octopus in Okinawa, but it was quite another to eat spices and flavor combinations that were completely unfamiliar to him.  He thought the spreads they made were okay, but it certainly wasn't the kind of food he would ask for.  Cas on the other hand seemed really impressed with the concoctions they managed to produce, and Dean certainly wasn't going to complain about him making pleasured noises and faces as he licked off the latest spoon.

They were off in their own little world, enjoying cooking together and each other's company, so they weren't very aware of what was going on around them.  There didn't seem to be any crashing pots or major fights, though Meg was definitely in charge of the kitchen with her no nonsense approach to running her kitchen.  There was a moment when it sounded like she and Zachariah were really getting into it, but Cas was licking some of the olive tapenade off Dean's finger at the time, so he was pretty sure a Hummer could have driven through the kitchen at that moment and he wouldn't have noticed.

An hour before service he and Cas were sent out of the kitchen and to the bar to begin prepping the ingredients for Meg's cocktail (and also to get them out of everyone's eye line who were grossed out by their constant flirting).  With fifteen minutes to spare, Benny joined them so he could make his pear soda.  Dean almost forgot they were in a competition he was having so much fun hanging out with his good friend and his...boyfriend?...type thing?  All he needed was his brother flipping his hair and making snarky comments about how Dean kept licking his fingers and then touching the food and he would be the happiest he'd been in a long time.  Possibly the happiest he'd ever been.

Then Dean felt a sudden wave of worry and niggling despair.  What would happen when this competition was over?  Would he ever seen any of these people again?  Would he and Cas just pretend like it was some sort of summer fling and forget about each other?  Would they meet up again later and Cas would act like he had no idea who Dean was?  Did he just turn himself into Sandra fucking Dee?

"Dean, are you okay?" Cas asked.

"I only know who that is because Sammy was in a school production," Dean said.

Cas tilted his head.  "What?"

"Uh, nothing.  I'm fine.   What's up?"

"The doorbell just rang.  I think the guests are here."

"Okay, okay.  So, we need to pull the plastic off the ramekins.  I'll do that."

"Thanks, babe."

Dean walked out from behind the bar and was halfway to the first table before what Cas had said sank in.  His face caught on fire.  He kept his head down and worked diligently on removing the plastic wrap from all the spreads on all the platters and he tried really hard not to think about what that term of endearment might mean.  Was it a slip of the tongue?  Did Cas really feel like they were at the Honey Bunny/Pumpkin phase of their...thing?  Dean wasn't sure so he did what all Winchesters (including Sam) did best: he avoided the situation altogether and stayed out on the floor and acted as a waiter to the guests.  He explained all the appetizers and described the cocktail and soda they could try and ran back and forth from the bar serving the guests.  He was thrown off a little when he saw Naomi, Gabriel, and Crowley present, but of course the judges had to be there too.

He was absolutely floored when he bumped into Becky Rosen, celebrity sex therapist with her own daytime talk show.

He'd spent many an afternoon watching her when he'd broken his leg and been laid up for six weeks two years ago.  It had been the Price is Right at eleven, a telenovela at noon, and Dr. Becky at one.  Her show had made him realize that even though he could be adventurous in bed he was quite far from what one might call kinky.  Though he could probably expand his horizons with Cas.  The idea of Cas laid out before him and giving very specific, detailed instructions for Dean to follow of exactly how to pleasure him was a hell of a lot more exciting than he was prepared for.  He wondered if it would be in bad taste to ask Dr. Becky a work related question while she was at a party.

The point was rendered moot when the guests were in called in for dinner before he'd managed to screw up enough courage to go up to her and ask her anything other than if she needed another drink.  After that he and Cas were back in the kitchen and put on bitch duty.  As the other chefs got their dishes ready, they made themselves available to do last minute garnishing and plate cleanings.  They tasted all of the dishes before they went out and glanced at each other very concernedly—there was no clear loser on this challenge.  It was impossible to guess who would go home.  Dean wasn't even going to entertain the idea that it might be him or Cas—he wasn't ready for that yet.  There was still too much newness to their relationship for it to be tested with the strain of separation just yet.  Plus there were miles of Cas' skin that he hadn't felt and tasted yet.

After the last dish went out, the chefs waited around in the kitchen, drinking the last batch of Meg's gin and tonics.  It was a girly drink with fruit in it, but Dean did have to concede that they were good.  They ate a dinner of leftover components of the seven courses and the spreads from the appetizer round.  It was pretty unanimous that the spreads were one of the best things they'd served all night.  Dean exhaled a discreet sigh of relief.  It was dangerous that his nervousness no longer came from losing the competition, but from the thought of being separated from Cas.  Fortunately because of the competition, he could allow himself not to dwell on that and push it aside for later.

About half an hour after the last course was served, Bela came into the kitchen and the contestants instantly tensed.  Bela smiled at them, but it didn't particularly settle the butterflies in their stomachs.

"Chefs, thank you so much for a wonderful meal.  This party was a huge success.  I know you all have been up very a long time—some of you longer than others—and you've been working all day.  So, since it's so late we're going to let you all go home and rest and we'll have panel tomorrow."

There were mixed feelings about that announcement.  Some of them were grateful for the reprieve, but others didn't want to have to worry about it all night.  Meg pointed out if they went home and drank, none of them would have to worry about it.  Dean wondered if any of them had figured out yet that Benny didn't drink, but since he didn't seem mind, Dean didn't think it was his place to step in and point out how insensitive they all were to him on a regular basis .

They managed to coerce their driver to stop by a liquor store on the way home.  Dean's Electric Iced Tea was definitely the group's choice for favorite drink and soon Charlie and Kevin were doing karaoke (sans backing music) on the coffee table while Jody, Meg, and Aaron used their cell phones as substitute lighters.  Zachariah had disappeared to his room and Dean was feeling buzzed and comfortably snuggled into the large, warm body next to him.  It did feel a little too large though...he turned his head and found Benny looking at him with an amused and mildly disturbed expression.

"I think what you're looking for is over there, brother," Benny said dryly.

Dean looked over toward the sliding glass door to the balcony and saw Cas leaning against the frame, one eyebrow raised, and his arms crossed over his chest.

"Oh, right.  Sorry, buddy."

Dean patted Benny's leg and struggled to his feet with Benny giving him a helping push.  He gave Kevin a slap on the butt as he passed him and squeezed Charlie's hand when she threw it out toward him.  Then she turned around in time to belt out the next line of Journey's "Don't Stop Believing."  When Dean reached Cas he put his arms on either side of the man, gripping the wall both inside and out, trapping him in his arms.  He leaned forward for a kiss, but Cas turned his head and all he got was cheek.  It actually didn't register with Dean that he'd missed his mark.

"Hey, there.  Wanna go outside?" Dean asked, stepping closer.

Cas ducked under his arm and stepped onto the balcony.  Dean followed, aware that his predatory feelings must be showing on his face and in his eyes.  He started to shut the door, but it got caught up on a cameraman.  He didn't care.  He stalked Cas across the balcony, who was carefully walking backwards and keeping his eyes on Dean.  They rounded the corner to the secluded portion of the balcony and Cas sat down on the chaise, leaning against the back and dropping his legs over the sides leaving him open and inviting.  Dean sat sideways between his legs, both of his feet on one side of the lounge.  He took Cas' face in his hands and held him still so this time he could get his lips.

Dean didn't know how long they kissed, lips pressing and sliding, occasionally getting nibbled on; tongues gently playing before forcefully invading the other's mouth; breath coming out in soft moans and quiet gasps of unintelligible words.  When they did pull back, Dean was a little light headed.  He cupped Cas' face again and smirked as he looked at him.

"Hey, Cas?"

"Yes?" Cas replied, his eyes still a little glazed with lust.

"Earlier today you did something."

Cas chuckled.  "I did?  Imagine that."

"Shut up, I'm not done.  I want to know if you did it on purpose, or it just slipped out."

Cas giggled.  "If something 'slipped out' it probably was an accident."

Dean laughed.  "No, you idiot."  Dean leaned forward and kissed him, and then he pulled back and grinned.  "You called me 'babe.'  Did you mean to?"

Cas' face suddenly lost some of its humor and his eyes went wide.  "I—I called you...?"  He trailed off and Dean could feel his cheeks grow very hot under his hands.  "I—I...Did you mind?"

Dean blinked, startled by the sudden reversal.  He sat back a little, feeling some of that too happy embarrassment he'd felt when he'd realized it himself.  He shrugged a shoulder.

"Nah, I didn't mind."

Cas smiled and circled his arms around Dean's neck.  "Good.  'Cause I might do it again."

Dean leaned forward and put his lips against Cas' ear.  "Please do, baby."

Cas hummed and tightened his grip on Dean.  Dean, completely aware of the camera and not caring, slid down a little to kiss Cas' neck.  Then he licked the salt from his skin, biting at the bolt of his jaw, and then working his way back down.  Cas writhed against him, trying desperately not to cry out too loudly, and running his hands non-stop over Dean's back and shoulders and through his hair.  Dean found a tender spot on Cas' neck and went to town on it—lips, teeth, tongue—and Cas bucked against him, his erection hard and obvious against Dean's hip.

"Dean," Cas hissed.  "Pleassssse..."

Dean didn't let go and didn't stop.  Not until Cas was marked and claimed and fucking his.

***

"What the?!  Concealer!  Concealer!  Someone get me some goddamned concealer over here!"

Dean hid a smile behind his hand as the production staff had to scramble to find something to cover the extremely large and noticeable hickey on Cas' neck.  Cas was not happy, but Dean was tickled pink.

"You two have some sort of deal worked out, don't you?" Aaron asked as he came to stand next to Dean.  "You hoping one of you will win the fan favorite award with these shenanigans and then you'll split the ten thousand dollar prize?"

Dean laughed.  "Looks like you've figured us out."

Aaron rolled his eyes.  "Whatever, dude.  So, how are you feeling about today's panel?"

Dean shrugged.  "I don't know.  I mean, I think everything was good.  I feel like they're just going to have to flip a coin to figure out who to send home."

"I know, that's the worst part of this.  You know, someone screws up one time it sucks, but it makes sense they get sent home.  But on a challenge where everyone is successful, it just seems unfair."

Dean laughed softly.  "You know, whenever you watch these shows and there are those people who are all like, 'It's sad to see people go and I wish we could all stay,' and at home you're screaming, 'It's a competition, you idiot!'  Yeah, I think I get it now."

Aaron smiled and thwacked him on the back.  "Well, that's nice, but I'm actually hoping all you fuckers get kicked out soon."

Dean let out a loud bark of laughter, and then tried to look like everyone else was crazy for looking at him like he was crazy.  Cas was scowling in his direction and he realized he wasn't happy Aaron was the one who was making him laugh.  He walked over to him as soon as the makeup team declared they had done the best they could do and nudged him with a shoulder.

"What?" Dean asked.

"What nothing," Cas said testily.

"Come on, Cas.  No more jealousy."  He leaned down close.  "I think I made my preference pretty clear last night, baby."

Cas shot him the stink eye.  "Yes, you did.  So tonight...I will be returning the favor."

Dean breathed in and out slowly, trying to mask his anticipation.  The blue of Cas' eyes were all but gone behind the wide, greedy black of his pupils.  Dean was pretty certain he wasn't in much better of a state.

When they were all arranged in the judging room, Dean saw that not only the regular judges were there, but also Maggie Stark and Dr. Becky Rosen.  Dean didn't know if something had happened before they were brought into the room, but there seemed to be some tension between Maggie and Crowley.  The producers didn't move their seats apart and got the crew set up and ready to roll.

"Action!" the director called out.

"Chefs," Bela started by saying, "thank you very much for such an amazing meal.  My party was a huge success and it was in no small part to all of you."

"Yes, I was quite impressed with the creativity and authenticity of the meal," Maggie said.

Bela's face twitched and Dean wondered if they were really friends at all or had been paired up just for the episode.  Becky didn't seem to notice any friction and decided to speak up too.

"It really was awesome.  It makes me want to travel to Morocco now.  Who's idea was it to do the Moroccan theme?"

Bela almost turned her head completely to look at Becky.  Clearly she wanted to be the one running the panel.

"I did," Meg said.  "We had a discussion and decided we needed an executive chef.  I was elected to be in charge.  I was also the one who decided to go with a themed meal and since we have several chefs who were familiar with Mediterranean cooking, I thought it would be something different that your guests probably don't have very often."

"It was a brilliant idea," Bela jumped in before anyone else could.  "All the guests loved it and every course was delicious.  So, now we're going to need to get into the nitty-gritty of it.  Let's get started."

They were evaluated in the order in which they served, so Dean and Cas were up first.  They were praised for offering several varieties of spreads and told that all of them were flavorful, but they received a little criticism for not offering more variety of styles of appetizers.  That didn't worry Dean too much—they would never be able to pick one or the other as being more responsible for the appetizers, so they essentially saved each other by being indistinguishable.  Not necessarily a good thing in a cooking competition, but for this particular round it probably was keeping them safe.

Next up was Kevin who prepared a beet salad

followed by Jody who prepared a chicken and pine nut couscous that Dean had eaten way more of than he should have before it ever even went out.

He thought Jody might win with that dish and Kevin had been praised because even people who didn't like beets had said they liked his dish.  Charlie had served an eggplant and chickpea dish as the third course that had definitely not been Dean's favorite, but Maggie and Naomi declared was an excellent vegetarian dish.

She was followed by Zachariah with a palate cleanser of mint green tea soup, or something like that.  It was an odd dish, but it tasted good and it was needed after the appetizers and other dishes that were heavy with olives and olive oil.

Aaron was next with a seafood salad that only received "good" from all the judges.

Not one raved about it like at least one judge had for every other dish thus far.  Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched Aaron come back to the group.  It hadn't been a bad critique at all, but Dean was a little worried for him.  Next up was Benny with lamb chops served with tahini mint pesto. 

Dean might have actually licked the sauce bowl clean on that one, but no one would ever be able to prove it because he'd made sure the cameras weren't on him when he did it.  Last Meg was called and all of the judges seemed to be in love with her twist on rice pudding.

It had been good, but Dean thought both Jody's and Benny's were better. 

They were sent out to wait for the judges to confer after that.  They sat in the holding room, discussing boring topics as nobody felt the need to complain or trash anybody else's dish since they had all done so well.  The producers probably weren't happy with them for not providing any entertainment, but there hadn't even been any fighting about dishes in the sink or underwear on towel racks back at the condo in the last couple of days.  They were all getting on remarkably well.  Dean wondered if the producers would come up with some way to remedy that.

When they were all called back into the room, Dean had to keep his eyes focused on the ceiling to keep from laughing at that damn spatula canister.  There had to be a better way to conduct this "ceremony."  Bela took her place in front of the judges' table and did her usual spiel, and then she started with the winner.

"This chef really earned the win tonight by taking on the burden of leadership and managing the kitchen pretty much flawlessly.  And on top of that made a delicious desert, and cocktail I might add.  Congratulations, Meg, you may pick an envelope from the Prize Tree."

Meg collected her spatula and read her prize aloud: a feature in Food & Wine magazine as well as three guest spots on either _Grilling with Gabriel_ or _Sinful Sweets_.  Meg looked quite pleased with the prize and Dean thought it was rather fitting.  For someone like him trying to cook on camera while talking to a fake audience would be a painful experience, but Meg might just show up Gabriel on his own show.  She thanked him and walked over to the right of the judges' table.

Jody was called second and was followed by Cas and Dean.  The two of them gave each other discreet low fives at getting called as high as they did considering all the other fantastic dishes.  Benny, Charlie, and Zachariah came next.  Dean crossed his arms over his chest as he saw that Kevin and Aaron were in the bottom two.  He wasn't happy about that, but he couldn't think of another dish that he would swap out.  Of course, he could think of a personality or two, but unfortunately this was about the food.

"Chefs," Bela said, "as I've said before the entire meal actually went above and beyond my expectations.  I wish there was some way we could not eliminate any of you.  Unfortunately, someone has to go.  Kevin, your beets were amazing.  Like Becky said, you have converted her.  But, compared to the other dishes it was fairly simple.

"Aaron, your seafood salad was very traditional and well season and tasted very good.  But, it was just 'good' and when compared to the other dishes we had yesterday, it seemed a little pedestrian.

"So, who stays and who goes?"  Bela flipped over the last spatula.  "Kevin, your dish was definitely one we all remembered enjoying, so you are staying in the competition."

Kevin sighed relief and collected his spatula.  Bela faced Aaron.

"I'm sorry, Aaron.  On some challenges in past seasons your dish could have been a winning dish, but the quality was just too high from the other chefs this go around.  We found ourselves forgetting about your dish, and for that reason we decided to let you go.  So, I'm sorry, but that means you're out.  Please return to the kitchen and pack up your knives."

Aaron nodded and thanked the judges for the opportunity.  He got hugs from most everybody and Dean gave him several pats on the back.  He was seriously going to miss him.  Aaron and Cas gave each other nods, and that was all.  Then Aaron walked out of the judging room and the other contestants were herded off for their "stay out of the way while they film the latest cut contestant's exit" meal.

 Ah, this really is unfair.  I feel like they really did just throw a dart at our pictures on the wall and I was just the unlucky one.  I do feel good knowing that I cooked my absolute best while I was here and that I didn't get cut by making some huge bonehead mistake.  Maybe I should have gone with the spiced salmon.

 Anyway, I hope Dean wins this competition.  He's the only one among those left who really cooks from the soul.

 Though I bet he would roll his eyes if he heard that.

***

When they arrived at the condo, the mood was pretty somber.  It was just after one o'clock and they'd been told they had the entire rest of the day off and until ten o'clock the next morning.  It wasn't a terribly long break, but it was a desperately needed one.  After reading Aaron's snarky goodbye letter, the group mostly spilt up to do their own thing.  If they noticed, the others politely ignored when Cas took Dean by the hand and led him out onto the balcony.  They were followed by a cameraman, but then, they always were.

Cas led him over to their corner and gently pushed on his shoulders to get him to sit down on the chaise with his legs stretched in front of him.  Then he reached behind Dean and manipulated the top portion to get it to go back, laying Dean out flat.  Dean's heart was pounding with the anticipation and the light manhandling.  Cas hadn't spoken a word a yet.  He crawled over Dean on hands and knees and nuzzled their noses together.

"My turn, babe," he whispered against Dean's lips before dropping a light kiss on them.

Then Cas began to work his way down Dean's body with gentle touches and light kisses: throat, clavicles, chest over the shirt, stomach under the shirt.  Dean closed his eyes and got lost in the sensations, one hand buried in Cas' dark hair.  His eyes flew open when he felt the man working open the fly of his jeans.  He glanced briefly at the cameraman standing in the corner filming them.  Surely he would have to stop at some point if they went too far; it's not like they could air the two of them—

"Oh, God," Dean breathed, eyes closing again as Cas pulled the corner of his briefs down and sucked on his hip bone.  Then he kissed it and moved just to the right and began sucking and biting the skin there.  Dean's hand flexed in Cas' hair and he raised one knee slightly, inadvertently spreading his legs.  Cas worked the spot and ran his hands over Dean's sides, and Dean could feel Cas' warm breath as it spilled over his groin.  There was no way Cas wasn't aware of the steadily growing bulge that bumped against his neck and ear.  Dean was worried he was going to tear Cas' hair out he kept twisting and pulling it so hard, but fuck, just his breath ghosting down onto him felt better than some blowjobs he'd had before.  What would it be like if Cas actually put his mouth on him?  The mental image made him groan and buck his hips up.

Cas pulled off with a satisfied pop and ran his thumb over the mark he'd left behind.  It actually kind of hurt it was so tender, but God it felt so good.  Cas carefully zipped him back up in his jeans, though it was rather unpleasant from Dean's perspective.  Then he leaned over Dean and smiled at him.  Dean smiled back and gently ran his hand through Cas' hair, trying to soothe what must be a tingling scalp at the very least.  Cas leaned closer and put his lips right next to Dean's ear, on the side of his face hidden from the camera.

"Think of me when you jerk off in the shower tonight, babe."

"Jesus Christ," Dean breathed.

Cas stood up and calmly walked away.  Dean put a hand to his forehead and just hoped the cameraman wasn't waiting around to watch him try to stagger around with a raging boner between his legs.  (Timestamp available)


	7. Round 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the horrendous bastardization of a beloved line from Supernatural.

Dean woke up to a sound he was unfamiliar with.  He turned to sit up, but there was a weight on his arm.  He rubbed his eyes and looked at what had him trapped.  He immediately smiled.  Somehow he and Cas, two rather large, full grown men, had managed to squeeze together on one twin sized bed.  Cas was sleeping on top of his arm and now that he was aware of it, Dean could feel their legs tangled together under their sheets.  Their sadly still fully clothed legs.  The sound that had awoken him came again and Dean recognized it as a throat being cleared in a very annoyed manner.

Dean looked over his shoulder and saw Benny standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrow quirked, and a look on his face that would make the crankiest nun at an all boys Catholic school proud.

"What?" Dean started.  Never admit to anything.

Benny just kept that look leveled at him.

"We were just sleeping, Benny.  Nothing happened."

Benny's jaw jut moved to the other side.

"We were just talking and fell asleep."  Dean pulled the covers back.  "Look, we're both still wearing clothes."

Benny started to walk toward the door but kept his disappointed, displeased look on Dean.

"Come on, man!"

Benny walked out the door with a grunt.

Dean lay back down in bed with a soft laugh.  He'd had a very similar conversation with his brother once.  He'd spent the weekend at Sam's new townhouse and been caught in bed with Sam's new girlfriend's little sister.  And the little sister's boyfriend.  Of course, the three of them hadn't still been fully clothed, but it wasn't like they had been sharing a room with Sam either.  Just a wall, and apparently that was enough for Sam to figure out that Dean liked to be in the middle during threesomes.  Not that Dean had ever participated in many threesomes, just two actually, but he had been in the middle both times.

Dean combed his fingers through Cas' hair and the man turned into his touch, but didn't wake up.  Guy must be a heavy sleeper.  Dean continued combing his fingers through his hair, realized what he was doing, and stopped.  He turned onto his back as best he could and stared up at the ceiling.  What was he doing with Cas?  He put a hand to his forehead and fanned it back through his hair.  He didn't want to think about it because then he would probably ruin it.

Dean felt a tingle in the fingers attached to the arm Cas was sleeping on.  Then he realized his entire arm was dead asleep.  Groaning he yanked the limb free, sending Cas to the floor with a squawk and a thump.  Dean held his arm in one hand and gently tried to shake it awake.  It was quite possibly the worst thing he'd ever felt in his life, and he'd been shot before.

"What the hell?" Cas grumbled, sitting up with a very disgruntled expression.

Even as Dean continued to shake out his crackling arm he did notice how cute Cas looked with some serious bed head and a scowling pout.

"Sorry, my arm fell asleep," Dean said.

"Hn."  Cas looked around and then flopped forward, planting the side of his face on the bed.  "Looks like we both fell asleep as well."

"Yeah.  Benny caught us.  He wasn't happy."

Cas raised his head quickly.  "Did we...we didn't.  I know I would have remembered that."

"Hell yeah you would've," Dean said with an obnoxious grin.

Cas rolled his eyes and stood up.  "Should we ever get to that point, you're going to have a lot of expectations to meet, Winchester."

"You know I'll exceed 'em, Novak."

Cas let out a disgusted scoff and walked over to his closet to get out some fresh clothes.  Dean was still living out of his travel bag on the floor.  He'd considered unpacking once or twice, but then thought that would be unlucky.  He looked over at Cas as the man let out a whining groan.

"What?"

"It's already 9:30," Cas said grumpily.

"So?"

"So, the production crew will be here to pick us up in thirty minutes."

Dean let out a whining groan.  "Crap."

He forced himself to roll out of the bed and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Cas asked.

"To the bathroom.  Why?  You writing a book?"

"No, but I'm getting in there first."

"We'll see."

"Dean!"

Dean took off down the hall, skidded in his socks on the faux-wood floor of the hallway, and slipped into the bathroom.  He laughed as he shut the door in Cas' face.

"Winchester!" he heard through the door.  He smiled and went through his ablutions as quickly as possible.  When he exited he found Cas waiting outside, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and a very cute frown on his face.

"Ah, relax, Cas, we have ti—ah!"

Dean grunted as his back hit the wall.  Cas' fingers were balled up in his T-shirt and their faces were centimeters apart.

"Careful, Dean," Cas said quietly.  "Don't mistake me for a pushover just because I've been nice so far."

Dean's upstairs brain was having trouble processing any of that as all blood had gone decidedly south.

"Would that mean I get to see you when you're not so nice?" Dean heard himself ask.

Cas smiled and tilted his head, putting their lips so, so close together—but not touching.

"I can be a lot things, Dean."  Dean just barely repressed a whimper.  "But what you get all depends on what I want to give."

Cas stepped back and walked into the bathroom without another word.  Dean exhaled slowly.  He had never been led around by the nose by a potential hookup before.  And he didn't mind that he was now.  Worse, he didn't mind that he didn't mind.  He shook his head with a chuckle as he started back to his room.  He froze as he saw a cameraman and Meg blocking his way.

"I knew it," Meg said in a sing-song voice as she walked away.  "Up against a wall."

***

"Hello, chefs!  I hope you all are ready for this week's challenges.  I'm actually very excited for them.  I think it will be quite the experience!"

The contestants shifted uneasily.  They'd learned that the more chipper Bela was, the more horrendous the challenge would be.  Dean was also fairly certain the producers had an ace up their sleeve to cause discourse amongst the group; harmony was boring and conflict generated ratings.

"But before we get into today's challenge, let's meet our guest judges.  Please welcome Ed Zeddmore and Harry Spangler."

A couple of the others actually clapped excitedly as two nerdy looking dudes entered the kitchen.  Dean had never heard of them.

"Chefs, Ed and Harry are known for their amazing fusion of science, food, and theatrics in the show they put on in Las Vegas.  They cook using exothermic reactions and rare ingredients and white tigers as sous chefs."

"Cheftestants," Ed said.  "We are masters of magical dining."

"We have a way of cooking," Harry started, his hands open and empty, "by cooking in the other realm!"

The man whipped his hands around and a silver tin skittered off the tips of his fingers and hit the floor with a splat.

"Shit."

"This is why I need to be doing the onscreen tricks, Harry," Ed said.

"Cut!" the director yelled.

It took forty-five minutes to reset, the "magic" tin was hidden under Ed's jacket, and they went through the spiel again.  This time Ed managed to produce the tin with some pretty shoddy sleight of hand, but the contestants oo-ed and ah-ed like they hadn't just seen the secret behind the trick.

"We have a lot of skills that make us world-renowned chefs," Harry said, very seriously.

"And we know that a real chef can make food when he applies knowledge, knowhow, and **knew** techniques."

"Did he just say 'new' with a K?" Dean muttered out of the side of his mouth to Cas.  Cas' shoulders shook a little with his silent laughter.

"And we want to see all of you cook with the skill that we value the most!"

"Don't worry, chefs," Ed said with an arrogant laugh.  "We're not expecting you to know any chemistry or use any animals."

Dean exhaled a sigh a relief with the others, though he did feel a tad insulted.

"What we consider to be our best skill..." Harry paused for dramatic effect.  "Is teamwork."

The chefs all glanced at each other, and then back at the smirking trio of judges.

"In fact," Ed said, "we work so well together, we can do it with one hand tied behind our back because we know the other is right there with us."

Dean felt a growing pit in his stomach.  He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

"For your Warm Up Challenge, chefs," Bela said, holding up an extra large apron, "you will be working in pairs.  And even though there will be two of you working together, you will only have two arms to work with."

The contestants didn't know whether to groan or laugh so it came out as both.

"You'll have one hour to prepare a dish of your choosing.  You'll only be able to use one of your own hands, and you will always have to be with your partner while cooking.  You'll be paired up with who is standing next to you.  So, Zachariah and Kevin, Benny and Jody, Dean and Castiel, and Meg and Charlie.  Now, let's get you all trussed up!"

 How is this even remotely fair?  Zachariah and I are like, a foot different in height.

 All the other chefs lose a hand. I lose a hand and a back.  Fantastic.

 My partner smells nice.

 You know with that apron on, I don't think anyone can tell what's going on underneath.

 Andrea, I know you can't see our hands, but I promise you, darlin,' there was no hanky-panky.  Besides, we were all tied up.

 I'm starting to think Dean Winchester could have his own show in Las Vegas.

Dean frowned as a PA loosely tied one of his wrists to his belt loop.  Then he was maneuvered next to Cas and the apron was put over their heads and tied around back.  Dean was at least grateful he had his right arm free.  Cas claimed he was pretty dexterous with his left hand, but they were about to find out how true that statement was.  Even with all the nonsense and the pressure of needing to cook soon, it was pretty nice to be cozied up to Cas from shoulders to hips.

Dean nudged Cas gently.  "Feelin' good about this, baby?" he whispered softly, though probably still loud enough for the mics to pick up, but there was nothing he could do about that.

"Ready to win, babe."

Dean laughed.  Then he had a thought.  "Hey, Bela!  If we win, do we both get immunity?"

"She'll go over that when we're ready to film again," a producer said as he scurried by.

Dean frowned and tried to cross his arms, but was stopped by the binding on his wrist.  He wiggled in frustration and jostled Cas, who shot him an annoyed look.

"Sorry," Dean said, not very sorry at all.

Once everyone set again, the PAs (who were making sure there was no pre-challenge strategizing or dish planning taking place) were called back, and Bela, Ed, and Harry took their places at the front of the kitchen.

"Okay, chefs, now that you're all ready for the ultimate test of teamwork, we'll put one hour on the clock.  Now, there won't be immunity for this win, but there will be an amazing prize for the two winners.  Ready?  Begin!"

Dean took off running and was immediately hung up on Cas who didn't move.  His feet slid out from underneath him and he turned to try to catch himself with his free had, yanking Cas down on top of him in an undignified pile.

"The hell, Winchester?"

"I was just trying to get started!  Why didn't you move?!"

"And where would we go?  We don't even know what we're making!"

They struggled to their feet as they spoke, one pulling for the pantry and the other for the refrigerators.  They bounced back together and glared at each other.

"I figure out what I'm cooking as I look at what's available," Dean said.

"Well, I find it's better to plan before you start grabbing things willy-nilly.  We should figure out our protein first and foremost."

Dean turned and nudged Cas toward the refrigerator.  "Are you going to be like this the entire hour?"

"Are you going to be an ass the entire hour?"

"Probably."

"Then I guess the answer is probably for me too."

Dean grunted and finally they stumbled into the protein fridge with a hard thump.  Grumbling at each other they sorted through the available proteins, using their elbows to keep the other contestants at bay.  There was a lot of cursing from somewhere near Dean's right side.  It sounded a lot like Meg and Charlie were having even more trouble than he and Cas were getting their partnership to work out.

Cas picked up a package marked as scallops while Dean picked up a beef filet.  They looked at each other while Kevin tried to sneak in under Cas' free arm.

"I think we should do scallops," Cas said.

"Too easy to overcook.  We need something a little simpler considering we're already working at a disadvantage."

"I think—"

"Out of the way if you have your proteins," Zachariah said, shoving Cas.

Dean took a step back to help steady Cas.

"You okay?"

"Yeah.  Hey, I had a thought."

Dean wrapped his free arm around Cas' waist, trying not to squash his beef filets, and lifted and turned, pulling him and Cas out of the sudden traffic jam at the refrigerators.

"What's the plan?"

Cas looked a little stunned and embarrassed by Dean's maneuver, but he let it slide.

"Well, the idea is that we're supposed to be showing off teamwork, right?  Two things working together harmoniously."

"Yes.  So what?"

"So, we can do a surf and turf.  And make one sauce that works with both connecting them."

Dean made a face.  "What sauce goes with beef and seafood?"

"I tried it once at my restaurant.  It came out okay, but it needs tweaking."

"And you think the middle of a cooking competition is a good time to tweak?"

Cas shrugged.  "It's not an Elimination Challenge, and we can't lose immunity.  So, I figure we've got nothing to lose."

Dean shrugged his lips and made a bobbing nod.  "Good point.  So, what else do we need?"

Dean and Cas set off for the pantry, pulling ingredients and stumbling slightly when they weren't in sync.  Cas suggested they try a counting march like the military.  Dean decided to be a brat and reject the idea because for some reason it seemed a little derisory.  After another squabble about attitudes, they managed to limp their way over to their station with their ingredients.  Dean noticed Benny and Jody moving along very quickly and in perfect sync.  He could hear Benny counting off a marching rhythm quietly.  He turned to Cas and spoke loudly to drown out Benny's voice.

"So what do we do now?"

Cas stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it around.  "There's no need to shout, you freak.  Okay, first we need to sear the scallops and cook the meat so it can rest while we make the sauce.  The sauce should cook pretty quickly, so we can use our time to prep everything before cooking anything so all we have to do is put it all together."

"Sounds like a plan.  Let's get to it."

As they stood side by side working at their station, it became easier and easier to get work done.  When one needed a second hand, the other stopped what they were doing in order to steady celery for chopping or holding a garlic clove while the other peeled.  Before long they didn't even need to ask the other for what they needed.  Just a slight turn in the other's direction and with a glance the other knew what to do.  Dean kept his concentration focused as best he could, but a part of his mind kept thinking about just how well his and Cas' bodies moved together.

While the scallops were searing and the filets getting to a nice medium rare, they discussed how to make changes to Cas' original sauce.

"You know," Dean said, why don't we add the celery mixture you're searing the scallops in to the cream sauce?  That will add some of the seafood flavors to the beef."

"Yes, that will add some depth.  And here, hand me that fat you cut off the filets.  I'll throw some of it in the pan with the scallops and get some beef flavor in with them."

"Good idea."

As the clock began to tick down to zero, they moved as one, plating the proteins, adding the sauce, and cleaning the plates.  They didn't speak, they didn't need to.  They knew where to move, how far to lean, when to push and when to pull.  They were breathing in sync and Dean could feel the excited tension in Cas' body because it matched his.  They dropped a sprig of rosemary to finish the dish and raised their free hands as time was called.  The other contestants were eyeing their dishes or the judges, but Dean's and Cas' eyes were locked on each other.  Their minds were far away from the kitchen, both knowing that they could be moving together in another way, moving closer, moving inside...

"Dean and Castiel!"

They snapped their eyes forward and Dean shook his head a little.  He saw Bela, Harry, and Ed looking at them with raised eyebrows.  He straightened and tried to look like he wasn't flushed with desire, but if he was as warm in the face as Cas' body was beside him, he a had a feeling they weren't fooling anyone.

"We've, uh, we've prepared a surf and turf for you," Dean managed to get out, his voice sounding a touch hoarse.

Cas cleared his throat before speaking, but the low rumble of his voice was even more pronounced than usual.

"We took two different proteins and made them work together with one cream sauce."

"Teamwork," Dean said.

"Two things working together," Cas added.

They dropped their eyes.  The judges sampled their dish, made a few polite comments, and then moved on to the others.  Before the results were revealed, the contestants were all released from each other.  Dean was grateful to have his left arm back, especially since it was feeling unpleasant from being held in such an awkward position for so long, but he missed having an excuse to be pressed up next to Cas.

"Well, chefs," Bela said with a delighted laugh.  "That certainly was entertaining to watch.  There were definitely pairs that worked well together and some that did not.  But, did it affect your ability to cook?  Ed and Harry, please tell us which teams did the best and which teams needed to work on their teamwork."

"Charlie and Meg," Harry said.  "I'm sure you're not surprised to be here.  The dish was a bit of a mess.  Clearly two different ideas were at war and the chicken was dry as a bone."

 I told her that last bake would suck all the juices out.  She's so stubborn.  It's her way or the highway.  And, she's not the only one that can cook.

 It was like working with C3D2 or something.  Only with less coordination.

"Zachariah and Kevin," Harry said, folding his hands together.  "Your pot pie looks delicious.  I'm sorry it ended up on the floor and not a plate."

"Now for the good news," Bela said.

"Benny and Jody," Harry said, "soup was a brilliant idea.  Throw everything in one pot and stir and it's hard to go wrong.  Even better, the taste was excellent.  Good work."

"Thank you, Chef," Jody said.

"And Dean and Castiel," Ed said.  "You two truly exemplified what teamwork is all about.  Not only did the two of you work well together—"

"—very well," Harry said with a throat clear and light blush across his cheeks.

Ed side-eyed Harry and continued.  "Not only did the two of you work very well together, but your dish was a delicious and harmonious blending of two into one."

Dean and Cas glanced at each other.  Harry looked like he was gazing off into some unseen realm of culinary fantasy.  They thought they had made a good dish, but it wasn't exactly like they had created a hybrid sea cow scallop.

"It seems gay love can pierce through the veil of competition and produce Heaven's sweet ambrosia."

The contestants all blinked.  Dean balled a hand into a fist and started to take a step forward.

"Gay lo—"

Cas put a hand on his arm and pulled him back.  He simmered down against his will.  Harry nudged Ed.  Ed shook himself and adjusted his glasses.

"Well, as you all might have guessed the winners of this challenge are Dean and Castiel."

The other contestants clapped politely and Dean and Cas shook hands in an exaggerated businessman manner.

"Congratulations, Dean and Castiel," Bela said.  "You may not have immunity, but you have an excellent prize!"

"We are giving you both a trip to Las Vegas, three days, two nights," Harry said.

"But not a weekend," Ed added.

"To enjoy the sights and two tickets to see our show live along with being one of the lucky few to partake of the meal we prepare during the performance!"

"And looks like we'll have to splurge for only one hotel room," Ed said.

Everyone snickered and tried to hide it behind their hands.  Dean and Cas pursed their lips, totally not amused by the proceedings.  Or the prize.  Dean wasn't sure he wanted to watch two weirdoes cook his dinner while trying not to get mauled by a malcontented tiger.

"Now," said Bela, "that you've learned how to work together and the value of teamwork, it's time to learn about the Elimination Challenge.  You will be cooking only for the three primary judges, myself, and Ed and Harry.  You will have two hours to plan, shop, and prep tonight.  And tomorrow you will have two hours to prepare six servings of any dish you choose.  You also have a budget of one hundred and fifty dollars."

Dean put his hands behind his back so that he could flex his fingers nervously out of view of the cameras.  There had to be a catch.  There was always the catch.

"I bet you all are wondering what the catch is," Bela said.  "It's not that bad really.  You're just going to be cooking head to head against another chef.  The judges will declare a winner and a loser for each pairing, and then the four chefs on the bottom will be up for elimination.  And the chef you will be cooking against, is the chef you were partnered with today."

Dean repressed an eye roll.  If he had to choose who he absolutely didn't want to have to cook against it would be either Cas or Zachariah.  Their techniques were so refined it made his own self-taught efforts seem somewhat lacking by comparison.  On top of that he had to come up with his own idea for a dish to cook.  It was easier when there was a set of rules or a theme to follow, but to just be told to make whatever he wanted...that left too many variables in his hands.

"Okay, chefs, your planning time starts now.  You'll be leaving for Super Foods in fifteen minutes.  Good luck and we'll see you tomorrow!"

Dean looked over at Cas who was already writing out a list on his America's Next Top Chef embossed notepad.  He leaned on his station and tried to peek at what he was writing.

"What cha makin'?"

Cas used his arm to cover his notepad.  "Nothing."

"Ugh.  You were that kid in fourth grade who took his tests with his arms surrounding it like a fortress so no one could cheat off him, weren't you?"

"I worked hard for my grades.  I didn't see why anyone else should get them for free."

"Hmm.  It's also the reason you were a virgin until at least college."

Cas stood up straight and looked at him with wide eyes.  "How did you—"

Dean leaned forward and gave him a peck on the lips.  "Nobody likes a goody two-shoes, hon."

Cas pouted.  "I'm not a goody two-shoes."

Dean left Cas to his own work and took out a pencil and tapped it on his notepad for several minutes.  He was certain he got a few irritated looks, but he ignored them.  Finally he decided he would just make Sam's favorite meal.  It was an apple and walnut salad with a champagne vinaigrette.  Of course he wasn't going to make a salad, so he'd need to adjust it a bit.  And add some fuckin' meat.  God his brother was unfathomable at times.  He went through a three year phase of being vegetarian.  Dean broke him of it by forcing a specially designed hamburger down his throat.  Quite literally.  Sam had broken down in tears and devoured the rest of the burger right there on the Roadhouse floor.  The Sam's Savior was one of the most popular items on the menu now.

The trip to Super Foods was still harried, but it was getting a little better as he began to remember where items were located and didn't have to waste time looking for them.  By the time they got back to the kitchen, they only had forty-five minutes to prep for tomorrow, but that was okay with Dean.  He didn't have much to do.

On the ride home in the van, the sniping that Charlie and Meg had been sending each other's way all day turned into squabbling.  When they got into the condo, it was barely stopped from turning into a full on shouting match when Jody scolded them both and left them skulking around like puppies who had been caught piddling on the carpet.  So, all throughout cooking dinner and eating it the rest of the group were subjected to a passive-aggressive insult match between the two women.  Both of whom had very sharp tongues.  Dean was filing away a few doozies for future use on Sam.

After dinner it really wasn't getting any better, so Dean decided to step in on Charlie's behalf.  Meg really was out of line.  She'd been sabotaging Charlie all day.  He'd done his best to stay out of it after Charlie had told him she was okay and could handle herself, but he was getting fed up with listening to Meg's smoky, whiny voice.

Just as he was making his way from the computer alcove (Sam had the nerve not to be at home waiting for his calls) to approach Meg and Charlie where they had set up camp on opposite couches (Dean was none too pleased to see Cas in Meg's camp) Cas stood up and intercepted him.

"Hey, let's go out and get some ocean breeze, okay?"

"But I was—"

"I know what you were going to do.  Can you not think of something else you'd rather do?"

Dean's head whipped around from looking at Charlie to focus on Cas' face.  His small, mischievous smile and slowly dilating pupils let him know he was not misunderstanding Cas' meaning.  He allowed himself to be pulled onto the balcony and didn't even bother to try to shut the door; he knew a camera would be right behind them.

Cas led him around to the far side of the balcony to their spot and pushed Dean down onto the chaise.  The top was partially leaned back, so Dean rested against it and watched with rapt eyes as Cas climbed on top of him and settled in his lap.  Dean hissed in a soft breath as his hands went to Cas' hips.  He allowed his eyes to close as he tilted his head back.  He breathed out heavily, canting his hips up, his hardening cock fitting perfectly in the warm invitation of Cas' body.

"This is nice, isn't it?" Cas said lightly, circling his hips against Dean, their groins fitting perfectly together.  "I know you were thinking it, too, in the kitchen.  How well we move together."

"Mmn," Dean bit back a moan, his eyes going to the cameraman over Cas' shoulder.

"It was so good, Dean, feeling you move beside me, against me."  Cas put his hands on Dean's chest and used the leverage to push down harder, circling his pelvis in tighter circles.

Dean cursed and planted his feet on the ground, pushing back up into Cas.  The man's head dropped back and he let out the dirtiest little cries of pleasure Dean had ever heard.  He was so hard and so turned on; his cock was throbbing with heated blood.  And still he could see the glint of the camera.

"C-Cas, the cam—"

"Dean, I want to feel you move against me again.  I want to feel you move in me."

"Fuck me, Cas," Dean whimpered pitifully and ran his hands up and down Cas' back as he bucked his hips up and down quickly.

"Well, if you want to do that we can.  I'm really not picky."

Dean laughed hysterically and sat up to kiss Cas deeply.  They got distracted by the kiss, their hips stilling and their groins calming minutely.  Dean pulled back, holding Cas' face in his hands and biting Cas' lower lip gently.

"Baby, I will do anything and everything, but we've got an audience."

Cas turned slightly to look over at the camera.

"They can't show this on TV," Cas said, leaning back in for another kiss.  "It won't air."

"That doesn't mean they won't record it.  And this perv—mm, easy, baby—won't watch us."

"Not into voyeurism, babe?"

"I can't rule it out completely, but I do know Jerry over there doesn't do it for me."

The cameraman smirked.

"Well, they can follow us into the bedroom, so we might as well do it here where the others can't hear us."

Dean thought that was good logic, so he kissed Cas and pulled him close.  Then he suddenly pulled back.  Cas whined and tried to capture his lips again, but Dean leaned back out of the way.

"They aren't allowed in the bathrooms."

Cas stopped moving as the light bulb went off over his head too.  Then he stood up and tugged on Dean's hand.

"What are you just sitting there for?  Let's go!"

Dean laughed as he was hauled out of the chaise and they pushed their way past Jerry the Cameraman.  He followed them into the house and Dean knew the others had stopped debating the Great Meg Versus Charlie Fight long enough to watch them scamper down the hall to the bathrooms.

"Oh, good lord!" he heard someone say exasperatedly.

"What, what?  Where are they going?"  That had to be Kevin.

Dean followed Cas into the bathroom and turned around in time to give Jerry a smarmy wave as the door slammed shut in his face (timestamp available).

***

Dean leaned against the outside portion of the kitchen counter by the front door as he waited on the rest of the group to get ready to leave.  He'd slept like a baby the previous night and popped up two hours before his alarm feeling refreshed and energized.  He took a sip of his coffee to hide his grin.  Sex had always had restorative properties for him, but sex with Cas was like rising from the pit of Lazarus.

Meg sauntered into the room and hopped up onto the counter next to Dean.  She pulled out a compact and checked her hair and makeup.  Then she turned and smirked at him.

"What?" he asked, good mood rapidly dissipating.

"I totally called it.  Knock down drag out fight or fucking against a wall.  I'm surprised to find myself happy that you opted for the latter."

"We didn't—there was no fucking against a wall."

"There's a wall in the shower, isn't there?"

Dean pushed his lips out as he ran through his memories of his and Cas' two hour shower.  Then he nodded.

"Yeah, there might have been a moment or two when the wall came into play."

Meg smiled and leaned close.  "Settle a bet for me, will you?  Is Cas cut or uncut?"

Dean made a face at her.  "Would you like to know how long it is too?"

"Cut," Cas said.  They both turned to find him standing in front of them, his chef's jacket slung over one arm.  He didn't seem particularly happy with either of them.  "Six and half inches fully erect.  Are the two of you done discussing my penis now?"

"She started it," Dean mumbled.

"What's it taste like?"

"Meg!" Cas said.

"Cinnamon," Dean said.

"Dean!"

"Really?" Meg asked.

"Well, mostly it tastes like dick, but he chews so much cinnamon gum that the taste lingers in your own mouth after you kiss him, so when you go down on him there's a faint residual taste."

"Interesting."

"Sex is off, Dean.  Forever."

Dean smiled and tossed a wink at Cas.

Cas suppressed a scream of frustration and stomped into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee.  Dean drained the last of his coffee and set the mug down on the counter behind him.  He walked away from Meg to talk to Charlie as she came into the main room.  He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a light squeeze.

"How you doing?"

Charlie sighed exaggeratedly.  "I'm fine."

Dean gave her a look.

"No really.  Because today, I go head to head against the Queen of Nockmaar."

Dean canted his head to the side.  He didn't know who that was but he assumed Charlie was talking about Meg.

"And I'll be able to prove that I'm a better chef head to head and I can shut her up."

"That's the spirit."

"Alright!" A producer called from the door.  "The van is here.  Let's go!"

Once they arrived at the kitchen, there was no recap of the challenge and they were set to work immediately.  Dean thought it was a little odd that Bela hadn't shown up to get some more air time, but he was more than happy to get this over with.  He was hoping at the very least to hold his own against Cas and to cook better than the three other potential losers.

As he worked he caught a glimpse or two of what Cas was preparing, but beyond that he was making some sort of fish dish, he couldn't figure out any other components.  Dean did his best to concentrate on his own work, but Meg and Charlie were back to shouting at each other.  Apparently one of them thought the other had turned up the heat on a sauté pan and ruined a sauce making the latter restart, and the other one thought the second one had moved her cooler so that she tripped over it and spilled a dozen shrimp onto the floor.  Or something.  Dean's head, along with everyone else's was aching by the time Bela pranced into the kitchen and asked the chefs to stop their work.  Dean glanced up at the timer on the wall as he wiped his hands clean and gathered near Bela with the other contestants.  The timer had been stopped at exactly one hour.  Something was going on.

"Hello, cheftestants, how is everything going?"

Everyone mumbled a response.

"Excellent.  But I wonder, did being able to cook whatever you want in such small quantities with a very generous budget with the only obstacle being going up head to head against another chef really seem like a challenge to you?"

Everyone squirmed.

"Chefs, what is the theme of this week?"

No one responded, but Bela waited.

"T-teamwork?" Kevin ventured.

"Exactly!  I just know you all are thrilled that your partner has already done so much prep work on the dish you'll be serving tonight."

Everyone shifted some more, not allowing themselves to understand what Bela was telling them.

"Starting from this point on, you'll all be switching dishes with your direct competition tonight, finishing it, and presenting it to the judges."

Dean closed his eyes and allowed his head to drop in defeat.

"Now, you all have the option of helping each other by explaining the dish to the other, or you can stay mum.  The choice is up to you.  You have one more hour of cooking time, and that starts, now!"

Dean jogged over to Cas' station with him and tried not to get confused as Cas tried to explain his dish, what had already been done, and what still needed to be done.  Dean's explanation went a little faster though Cas' eyebrows were drawn together in skepticism.  Right before they split ways Dean gave him a gentle shove.

"It's not that crazy of an idea."

"If you say so, babe."

"Yeah, when you win this thing you're gonna owe me.  So, you start thinking of creative ways now."

Cas smiled and sorted through the ingredients at Dean's station.  "I already have a list of things I'm going to do to you, Dean Winchester."

Dean turned away and bit his knuckle in lustful agony.  Cas was almost more than he could handle.  But damn if he wasn't going to keep trying.  He glanced at the timer and almost bit clean through his finger.  He had a little less than fifty minutes to pull this dish magically out of his ass.  He would have to put thoughts of Cas and his kinky as fuck imagination on the backburner for now.  Dean grabbed up the mandolin and a celery stalk and set to work.

The fifty minutes flew by and the other pairs were stopped five minutes early.  They would have five minutes to plate and serve when it was their turn to go so none of the dishes would sit out too long.  Dean and Cas were sent in to the judges first.

Dean watched as the PAs set his and Cas' dishes side by side in front of the judges; Cas' certainly looked prettier.  There was strike one.  He looked over the judges as they looked at the offerings on the table.  They all seemed pretty neutral, except Naomi who had a disdainful eyebrow raised.  Dean couldn't tell which dish it was aimed at though.

"Dean," Bela said.  "Why don't you start us off?"

"Well, uh, I have prepa—am presenting to you a black sea bass prepared in a white wine sauce on a bed of mirepoix."

Dean saw Cas look at him out of the side of his eye and the judges raise their eyebrows.  Dean kept his scowl in check.  _Yes, he knew what a mirepoix was._

"It's served with a pea puree," Dean finished with a little huff.

Naomi put a dainty bite of the puree in her mouth.  "What is in the pea puree?"

"Peas, mint, garlic, salt, pepper, olive oil, and then Parmesan to finish it."

"It's quite tasty," Harry said.  "I can taste the mint."

"You can't taste the mint," Ed said.

"Yes, I can.  Otherwise, why would someone put an ingredient in if you didn't want people to taste it?"

"People use egg all the time as a binder but you don't taste it."

"As a binder in baking.  Mint in cooking is meant to be tasted!"

"Thank you, Dean," Bela said, cutting off the squabbling duo.  "The fish was cooked perfectly."

"A bit of a small portion for an entree though," Crowley said.

Dean glanced sidelong at Cas and he looked up at the ceiling.  He had mentioned to Cas that he thought this was more of an appetizer, but he had been adamant that this was his dish.  The judges switched over to trying Cas' dish.

"Mm, this pesto is very...different," Gabriel said.  "Not bad, very delicious actually, but it's not your usual pesto."

"This dish," Cas said, "is actually a play on an apple and walnut salad with a champagne vinaigrette.  The chicken has been prepared in a champagne glaze with an apple cider vinegar reduction sauce.  The pesto is made with walnuts instead of pine nuts."

"Walnuts!" Gabriel said, snapping his fingers.  "You know, I'm glad I tried a bite before I heard what this was all made of because that sounded scary.  But this is..."

Gabriel paused to think of a word and the other judges chimed in.

"Delicious."

"Scrumptious."

"One of the best things I've ever tried."

"Delightfully unique."

"Quite tasty."

Cas smiled.  "Thank you."

"Now, how much was the original concept of the first chef and how much was improvised by each of you?"

Dean and Cas looked at each other and then at the judges.

"All and none," Cas said.

"What?" Crowley asked.

"He means," Dean said, "that all of it was the original chef's original idea and none of it improvised.  On either dish."

"Is that a fact?" Naomi asked.  "If I were you, Dean, I might have done more to make the dish an entree portion."

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it.  She was right.  It was Cas' idea and ingredients, but he was the one who finished and served it.

"Well, this does make things interesting," Bela said, "as we have concepts to compare to execution as opposed to unique dishes.  Judges, make your choice."

Dean was stunned to see the judges writing their vote down on a card while they were still in the room.  They were going to tell them right now?  Dean watched as Bela separated the cards into two piles.  Two in one and four in the other.

"Congratulations, Castiel," Bela said, "you've come out on top in this one.  Of course, Dean, you should count this as a win too since it was your dish."

"Yeah, except I didn't win and now I'm up for elimination."

"That's true," Bela agreed.  "Please send in Zachariah and Kevin."

Dean made a face and turned on his heel.  As he walked out of the room he glanced back at Cas.  The man was smiling sheepishly.

"That **was** my dish," Dean groused.

Cas sidled up next to him.  "It was, babe, but trust me, it's going to be your win."

Dean paused in the short corridor between the judging room and the holding room.  No cameras had followed them.  He turned and grabbed Cas about the waist, pulling him close.

"Promise?"

Cas twined his arms around Dean's neck.  "Definitely.  Honestly, I think it's a win-win situation here."

"And what if I get sent home tonight?"

"Not gonna happen."

"How do you know?"

"Did you see the state of the sauce Charlie made?  No way they're sending you home over that."

Dean stopped smiling and took a step back.  "That was what Meg left her.  She sabotaged the dish."

Cas frowned and moved his arms back to his sides.  "That's ridiculous.  None of us knew we weren't going back to our dishes.  Charlie ruined that sauce all on her own."

Dean ran his tongue over his teeth, but didn't respond.

"Let's not get caught up in their fight, okay?" Cas asked, taking a step forward into Dean's space.

Dean nodded.  "Okay."  He tipped his head down and kissed Cas chastely.  Cas pushed up on his toes and kissed Dean again with a little more force.

"Later," he promised.

Dean swallowed and nodded.  God what he wouldn't give to take him up against the wall right right here and now.  Though wall sex made him think of Meg.  He made a face behind Cas' back.  He really didn't like that woman.

In the holding room they told Zachariah and Kevin to go to the kitchen for their last five minutes of preparation, and then they sat down in chairs that were side by side.  They both noticed that Meg and Charlie were on opposite sides of the small space with their arms crossed and jaws set in a stubborn jut.  They all got about ninety seconds of tense silence before Cas asked how everyone was doing.  That set off a shit storm of epic proportions.  Charlie and Meg were adamant that the other had sabotaged her and that even if she hadn't they both picked terrible dishes with inferior quality ingredients.  Jody tried to get them to shut up, but they wouldn't listen today.  Dean was willing to put up with most of it until Meg made it personal, so he made it personal right back.  Cas, of course, jumped in to defend Meg.

They all shut up when Zachariah and Kevin came back.  They found out Zachariah had won and Kevin had lost and Jody and Benny gratefully left to go finish off their dishes.

"You know, we could all hear you in the judging room," Kevin said.

"It was her fault!" Meg and Charlie said with an angry point of her finger.

The shouting resumed.  It continued until Benny and Jody came back with annoyed looks on their faces.

"The judges are getting ticked off and it's affecting judging," Jody said sternly.

Meg and Charlie stormed off to finish their dishes without waiting to learn the results of the last round.  Jody was the winner and Benny had lost.  They all sat in tense silence again.  Dean kept his eyes on the floor; he was worried he might start arguing with Cas again if he looked at him with his squinty eyes and thinned lips.  He understood that he was being a good guy by standing up for his friend, but he couldn't understand why he thought Meg was worth being friends with.

They all sat for a very long time.  Much longer than any of the three groups before had.  At last, after nearly ninety minutes, Meg and Charlie returned to the holding room.  Meg was white-faced and grim, and Charlie was quietly crying.  Dean stood up immediately and went to her.

"Hey, are you okay?  What happened?  Are you in the bottom four?  It's not a big deal.  So am I."

Charlie shook her head and didn't answer as she leaned against Dean's solid form.  Dean's brow creased in confusion.  He looked up at the others, wondering if they had any insight.

"She's not in the bottom four," Meg said stoically.  "Both of our dishes were disasters.  And since we both had a hand in preparing both pieces of shit we presented, we have both been eliminated."

"What?!" Dean shouted.  "They can't do that!  Can they do that?"

"There's no rule saying that they have to eliminate one person at a time," Kevin said.  "There's precedence of them eliminating two contestants at once.  Just like they've also not eliminated anyone before."

"Well, thank you, Kevin, for the official rulebook review."

"Dean, don't take it out on him," Cas said.

Dean shot him a look and Cas sighed and looked away.  Dean hugged Charlie a little tighter.

"Hello, everyone," Bela said as she entered the room, "we'd like all of the remaining contestants to please join us in the judging room."

Dean rolled his eyes in frustration.  He didn't want to deal with this now.  He kissed Charlie on the top of her head and then grabbed her shoulders to make her look at him.

"Hey, Charlie, this sucks, but you know you're an amazing chef.  And you do what you need to do to get back in it.  You know there's some sort of second chance coming up."

Charlie nodded.

"Dean, let's go," a producer said.

"Alright, I'm coming."  He gave Charlie an encouraging smile.  "I'll be right back."

Charlie gave him an answering smile that wavered a little with her tears.  Dean turned and walked back into the judging room.  This time there were no giggles during the spatula ceremony.  Cas was called as the overall winner and won a five thousand dollar cash prize furnished by one of the show's sponsors.  From there Zachariah, Jody, Dean, Benny, and Kevin were called in quick succession as there was no tension regarding who would be eliminated.  They all trudged back into the holding room, and found it empty.  Dean was about to yell at a producer and demand to know where Charlie was, but clearly they had been sent away while they'd been in the judging room for the most dramatic effect.  Dean didn't care if it got him disqualified from the show, he was going to see Charlie down the hall once they got back to the condo.

 This is bull*beep*.  I'm being sent home because I had to cook crappy food and watch as my own dish was destroyed by a crappy chef.  If I were being sent home because of a mistake I made or someone just out cooked me, that would be fine.  But I'm being sent home because of someone else's lack of talent.  It's such bull*beep.*

 This.  Sucks.  Like, banana balls sucks.  I wish I had tried harder with that dish.  I just, didn't even bother trying because I didn't like it.  And I thought I could get away with saying it was all Meg's fault.  But it wasn't all her fault.  Though most of it was.

 Peace out, bitches.

***

Dinner was a somber affair.  Barely anyone spoke and no one had much of an appetite.  Except Zachariah; he had no problem scarfing down his chicken piccata.  The ride home was even more uncomfortable as their silence wasn't masked by the soft murmur of other diners.

The condo felt even emptier than usual when they entered and no one went to the kitchen for wine or to settle on the couches to talk.  Everyone by unspoken agreement all just decided to go to bed.  As they walked down the hallway to their room, Benny announced he was taking a shower and peeled off down a different hallway leaving Cas and Dean alone.  Dean would have thought Benny a traitor, but he knew he was right to leave them to work out the rancor between them.  It was stupid they were even fighting and they needed to resolve it quickly.  Dean made a face as they entered the room; he just didn't want to be the one who had to apologize first.

Dean startled slightly when he felt an arm encircle his waist and another sneak over his shoulder to hold him across the chest.  Cas pressed against his back and put his chin on his shoulder.

"Hey.  I don't want to fight," he said.

Dean reached up and covered Cas' hand with his.  "Neither do I.  I'm sorry I got so...loud."

Cas chuckled.  "I'm sorry I kept trying to tell you what you should and shouldn't do.  But, I actually kind of like it when you get loud."

Dean laughed and turned in Cas' arms.  "You gonna make me loud, Cas?"

"I will do my best."

They kissed softly, easily—no heat, just a warm desire to feel the other.  They separated and Cas walked over to his closet and began removing his clothes.

"You know, I could do that," Dean said as he shucked his T-shirt and tossed it on the floor by his bag.

"I don't think Benny's shower will be that long."

"Long enough," Dean mumbled.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I really am sorry Charlie got sent home.  I know you were friends with her, and I really liked her a lot."

"Yeah.  It sucks.  But, I guess we all have to go home eventually."

"True enough."

"I guess if Charlie had to go, at least that bitch got cut too."

Dean jumped at the loud bang caused by the slamming closet door.  Dean turned and saw Cas staring at him with cold fire in his eyes.

"She's not a 'bitch,' Dean.  She's strong and assertive.  Two qualities that in a man would be good leadership qualities, but in a woman just makes her a bitch."

"Cas, I didn't—"

"Yes, you did.  You don't like her.  You never have."

"No, I don't.  Okay?  So what?  You didn't like Aaron."

"This is different.  This has nothing to do with being jealous.  You just have this irrational hatred for her."

"It's not irrational!  I know people like her.  They're selfish and greedy and always looking out for themselves at the expense of others."

"'Know people like her?'  You don't even know **her**."

"Should I?  How could I possibly know her when she hides behind sarcasm, petulance, and sex."

Cas laughed humorlessly.  "You know, Dean, you just described yourself."

Dean took a step back, feeling like he'd received a physical blow.  Cas reopened his closet and grabbed out an armful of clothing and headed for the door.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked lowly.

"I think I'm going to move in with Kevin for awhile.  Goodnight, Dean."

Dean watched Cas push past a cameraman as he walked down the hallway.  He turned and sat heavily on the bed, and then flopped onto his back.  He closed his eyes and put a fist to his forehead.

"Well, shit."


	8. Round 7

Dean sat on the balcony, drinking a well brewed cup of coffee (that was just a bit Irish) and watching the morning sun rise over blue skies and a sparkling ocean.  And he wasn’t enjoying it at all.  The producers had told them they all had the entire day off and that they should enjoy it since the competition would only get more intense from this point forward.  Dean had reached the point where he was right on the cusp of being over the whole thing and just quitting and going home.  The only reason he hadn’t was because he knew that even with all the drama that had surrounded Charlie’s departure and the stressful nature of the challenges, he was only feeling this way because of some annoying little prig with a superiority complex.  Dean Winchester wasn’t about to be run off by some asshole with pretty eyes.  He had more self-respect than that.  He added more Irish to his coffee.  Well, he had **some** self-respect.

Dean heard the sliding glass door open, but didn’t turn his head to see who had dared disturb his morning drinking.  The person sat on the chaise next to him and didn’t speak.  Dean took a sip of his coffee, realized it was more whiskey than coffee now and decided to put the mug down in favor of drinking straight from the bottle.  He let out an “ah” after taking a swig.  This was how coffee was meant to be drunk on shitty mornings.  He got about five more minutes of peace before the person on the balcony reminded him he was still there.

“Dean,” Cas said, “can we talk?”

Dean sighed.  Now his sunny blue skies really were ruined.  He sat up and it was more of an effort than it should have been to get his legs off the chaise.

“You said plenty last night, Cas,” Dean muttered as he went back inside the condo.

Dean plodded into the kitchen to put his coffee mug in the sink, realized he’d forgotten it on the balcony, and put the whiskey bottle down instead.  He used the walls to help guide him to the computer alcove and sat down heavily in the chair.  He had to click the connect button on the Skype program three times before Sam finally answered.  He had clearly just rolled out of bed if his bleary eyes and bird’s nest hairdo were any indication.

“Morning, Sam.”

“Dean.  You do realize it’s 7:30 here, right?”

“So?  It’s 8:30 here.  Not that much of a difference.  You get up over an hour earlier than that usually anyway.”

“During the school year.  I get one month out of the year to sleep in.  I’d like to take advantage of it.”

“Fine.  Go back to bed.”

Dean reached forward to close the program, but Sam put up a hand and called out for him to stop.  Dean sat back in the chair, **feeling** the scowl on his face.

“Are you okay, Dean?  What happened?  Were you eliminated?”

“No,” Dean groused.

“Were you in the bottom?  Did you get a bad critique?”

Dean sighed.  “No, nothing like that.”  He jerked upright as he almost tipped out of the chair.

“Dude.  Are you drunk?”

“No.”

Sam gave him a look.

“I’m not drunk.  I might be a little tipsy though.”

“Dean.  It’s eight in the morning and you’re drinking?  What happened?”

Dean waved off the question.  “Nothing, it’s stupid.  I just put a little in my coffee, and maybe put a little too much.”

“Come on, Dean.  You haven’t drunk in the morning since…well, it’s been a long time.  So, what’s wrong?”

Dean fingered a small hole in the thigh of his jeans.  “It’s just…Sammy…am I a sarcastic, bratty slut?”

Sam raised his eyebrows.  “Is that a drunk question or a real question?”

“I told you, I’m not drunk.”

“So, a real question.  Well, you can be sarcastic.  Especially when you don’t want to deal with something.  Bratty?  Eh…I’d call you more pigheaded than bratty.  And a slut?  Well, I suppose that depends on one’s definition…”

Dean frowned.

Sam sat up straighter.  “Oh.  You weren’t looking for truth.  You’re awesome, Dean!”

“Shut-up, Sam.”

Sam deflated.  “Sorry.  Why are you asking anyway?”

“No reason.”  Sam waited him out.  “It’s just, you know.  There was this person here I didn’t really like.  And someone else said I was a lot like her.  So, if I’m like a person I don’t like…” he trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence without sounding like the bullied teen on an after school special.

“Well, Dean, you’re not without flaws, but anyone who really knows you knows they’re a small price to pay for having you in their lives.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably at the praise coming from his little brother.

“I just think that the person who said that about you just doesn’t know you.  They just know the front you put up.  But I think since you care about what this other person thinks of you, maybe you should show them what’s behind that front.”

And if hearing Cas’ words about Meg thrown in his face about himself weren’t enough of a kick in the head, he was getting unwitting dating advice from his little brother.  Dean rubbed the back of his head.

“You may have a point.”

“I always have a point.”

“Meh.  I gotta go.  Busy reality star crap and all.”

“Okay.  I really can’t wait to see this thing.”

Dean swallowed.  “Yeah, me too.  It’ll be interesting to see what they decide to air.”

“Bye, Dean.”

“Hey, Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

Dean mumbled a thank you.  Sam probably didn’t hear the actual words, but he knew his brother well enough to know what he meant.

“Any time, Dean.  Bye.”

“Bye.”

Dean sat in the chair a while longer, happy to be hidden away from the others and the cameras as well.  No one had followed him over here and he wondered if that meant there was something more interesting going on somewhere else.  He heaved himself out of the chair and went looking around the condo.

Kevin was in the kitchen eating cereal with a sleepy look on his face.  Zachariah was reading a newspaper on the couch.  Jody’s bedroom door was still shut so she was probably still asleep.  Cas was still out on the balcony, and Benny had joined him.  They appeared to be talking.  Dean’s curiosity was more than a little piqued to know what they were talking about, but he refused to go outside and show that he was curious.  He flopped down on the couch and asked Zachariah for the sports section.

Dean sighed.  The Rangers had lost last night’s game to the Twins.

***

Dean stood behind Benny’s station as they waited for Bela to finish getting mic-ed up.  He had chosen to encroach on Benny’s space because it was technically the farthest from Cas’ station.  They weren’t required to stand by their own workspace for the introduction of the guest judge, so he didn’t think anyone would notice he was being a coward.  Well, no one on the production staff.  The other contestants were painfully aware of the awkward rift between him and Cas.  One had he made even larger by refusing to be in the same room with the guy even after realizing Cas hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true and had been willing to talk it out.  Dean felt more nervous than usual before the start of a new episode.  He knew it was because his treatment of Cas wasn’t sitting right with him.  And also he just missed him.  But for some reason he refused to concede yet.  It was the worst thing he had inherited from his father: stubborn pride.

“Action!” the director yelled, disrupting Dean from his downward spiral of self-loathing.

“Hello, chefs!” Bela chirped.  “Congratulations on making it past the halfway point.”

Dean felt a sudden sense of dread.  This really was only just past the halfway point.  They still had five rounds left to go, if he made it to the end.  It just seemed like so much had already happened.

“I feel like we’ve been working you guys very hard lately.  So, why don’t we liven things up a bit and play a game?”

Dean looked down the line as Jody and Kevin seemed to realize what Bela meant.  He had no clue.  Maybe he should’ve watched the show a little bit before he came here.

“Here to help me is judge and fellow game-lover, Gabriel Engel.”

Gabriel bounced into the room with a wave and a smirk.  The contestants all said hi and smiled despite themselves.  Gabriel had a sharp tongue, but he was fair and often gave good critiques when he didn’t like something, and Casa Erotica worthy performances when he did.  They all liked him.  He was Dean’s favorite judge.

“Hello, cheftestants,” Gabriel said.  “For those of you who are fans of the show (which is, of course, all of you), you should be familiar with your next Warm Up Challenge: The Relay Race!”

Dean squirmed.  He hoped this didn’t involve any actual racing; he was quite certain he would fail all the current Marine physical requirements.

“You’re obviously going to need to be in teams, so let’s just—“ he made a popping noise with his mouth as he put his hands in front of him pointing at the contestants and then spread them apart.  “—split things right here.  So, Dean, Benny, and Jody are one team and Zachariah, Kevin, and Castiel on the other.”

The group shuffled a bit in order to show a clear break in the two sets of three, and they accepted their color coded aprons from Bela.  Dean’s team was blue and the other was green.  Now Dean was very grateful he’d hidden over by Benny.  He didn’t want to have his first interaction with Cas to be forced pleasantries for teamwork's sake.

“So.  Here’s how the race will go.  Each team will have to complete three tasks, each team member must do one of the tasks, and the next task cannot be started until the previous one is completed.  You may strategize as to which team member does which task beforehand.  This is simply a race against each other, so work fast because the first team finished is the winner.  However, you must call me over for inspection after each task as I will determine if it has been completed to my satisfaction.  When I’m called over for inspection, all work on both teams must stop until I say you can start again.  Are we clear on the rules?”

The contestants nodded.

“Fantastic.  Here’s what you must do.”

Two PAs rolled out carts with cloths covering lumpy objects and parked them in front of the two teams.  Gabriel walked over to one of the carts and pulled off the first yellow square.

“One!  You must shuck twelve oysters.

The flesh must be detached from the shell, but not torn!  I see any murdered oysters and you’ll be shucking some more.”  Off came the second cloth and revealed three red bell peppers, five cloves of garlic, and two large white onions.  “Two!  You must finely mince—and I mean **finely mince** —one cup of bell peppers, one cup of onion, and a quarter cup of garlic.”

The third cloth revealed two eggs, three small ramekins containing salt, sugar, and dry mustard, two lemons, a bottle of white wine vinegar, and a bottle of vegetable oil.  “Three!  You must make me two cups of mayonnaise.

You have thirty seconds to decide who is going to do what.  Go.”

Dean turned to Benny and Jody.  “Benny, you work with a lot of seafood.  You shuck any oysters?”

“Quite a few actually.  I can handle that.”

“Good,” Jody said, “because I think I’ve done it like twice before.  Dean, you want to handle the mincing?  Your knife skills are freaky fast.”

Dean grinned.  “I’ve always been good with a knife.  Even before I joined the Marines.”

He got a couple of eyebrow raises, but when Benny spoke it wasn’t to question his shady youth.

“As fast as Dean is with chopping, I think he needs to do the mayonnaise.  No offense, darlin’, but he might have more arm strength than you do.”

Dean made a face as he looked at the pile of mayonnaise ingredients.  He didn’t know how to make the stuff (his always came from a jar), but he did know it involved a lot of whisking.

“I don’t actually know how to make mayonnaise,” Dean confessed.

“We’ll tell you,” Benny said.  “I think we can talk you through it as long as we don’t actually do any of the work.”

“Time's up, chefs!  I hope you’ve made your decisions because this relay race is going to start…right now.”

The kitchen erupted in noise as everyone already began shouting encouragement.  Benny hurried over to the cart and grabbed the bowl of oysters, shucking tool, and gloves.  He hurried back and Dean saw that he was up against Zachariah.  Dean watched as Benny set to work being very careful and methodical (and slow) as he opened up each shell and cut the meat from it, leaving the oyster on its half shell in a line across his station.  They all did look beautiful, but Dean was getting antsy as he watched Zachariah fly through his shucking.

“Come on, buddy, you got this!  Shuck those oysters!”  Dean laughed at the weird battle cry.

“Picture yourself as the Walrus!” Kevin cried out.  “Or the Carpenter!”

Dean looked up.  The hell was that kid talking about?

“Check!” Zachariah shouted.

Dean gritted his teeth in frustration as Benny had to stop halfway through his second to last oyster.  The three members of the blue team tried to stand on their tiptoes to get a better look as Gabriel inspected Zachariah’s work.  He was halfway through when he threw one in the garbage.

“Broken shell,” he said.  “Torn flesh,” he said as he threw in another.  “This one’s meat isn’t totally detached.  Okay.  Start!”

Zachariah had to pull out two fresh oysters and Benny was already working on his last one.  In less than half a minute Benny was calling for a check.  Zachariah put down his hands with a thud and glared over at the blue team.  Gabriel did an inspection of all twelve oysters.

“Beautiful, beautiful!  Blue team has completed task one.  Back to work, teams!”

The green team started yelling for Zachariah to hurry again as Jody hustled around the station to grab her alliums.  She started with peeling the garlic and the onions first, and then cut open and cleaned out the seeds of the bell pepper.  Before she could even begin mincing Zachariah called for another check and she had to stop.  Everyone waited anxiously as Gabriel inspected the green team’s oysters.

“We’re good here.  Green team has completed task one.  Continue!”

Benny and Dean encouraged Jody as she began to mince furiously.  They pointed out where some pieces looked a little large and tried to keep up her spirits after the third check on the garlic said they were still shy of a quarter cup.  She set to work again and then finally had enough garlic to fill the measuring cup.

“Check!” she called out.

“Stop working!”  Gabriel walked over to inspect Jody’s work.  He shook up the bell peppers and then dumped them on the wood block.  “These need to be a little finer.  Go!”

Jody groaned and started running her knife through the peppers again.  Dean and Benny did their best cheerleader impersonation.

“Check!”

“Check!”

Gabriel looked back and forth between the two teams.  He went over to check Jody’s peppers first and declared them suitable.  Then he went to the green team and checked out Kevin’s handiwork.  Dean crossed his fingers that Kevin had to redo some of his mincing.

“It’s all good on both teams!  Now it’s all up to the mayonnaise.  Go!”

Dean bolted around the station and just pushed the cart back over rather than trying to gather everything.  Dean saw Cas make the same decision a split second later out of the corner of his eye.  He got everything on the counter and looked at Benny and Jody.

“Okay.  Now what?”

“Separate the egg yolks,” Benny said and Dean obeyed.  “Now stir them up with a teaspoon of salt and a teaspoon of the mustard.  Now just a little sugar.”

“How much is a little?”

“You know, a pinch or two.”

Dean frowned.  “One pinch or two?” he asked.

“Eh, well…”

“Two,” Jody said.

Dean obeyed the clearer command.

“Those were big pinches,” Jody commented.

Dean tossed her a look over his shoulder as he mixed the seasoning into the egg yolks.

“Now, in a separate bowl squeeze out several teaspoons of lemon juice.”

“A little more specifics wouldn’t hurt here, Benny,” Dean said grumpily as he sliced the lemons into halves.

“Like, two tablespoons,” Jody said.

“Naw, more ‘n that,” Benny said.  “For two cups of mayo?  Double it, brother.”

Dean just squeezed each of the four halves once and figured that would be enough.

“Now put in about half as much vinegar.”

Dean shook his head and just eyeballed it.  What else could he do?  He used a spoon to fish out a stray lemon seed.

“Alright, here comes the fun part,” Benny said.  “Pour about half of the lemon into the yolks and start whisking.”

Dean combined the two ingredients and started whisking.

“Woo!  Look at those muscles bulge!” Jody called out.

Dean laughed and almost lost his rhythm.  “Shut up.”

“Now, add a few drops of oil and keep whisking.  Easy, easy.  Only a little at a time.  Good, now whisk, and add a little more.”

Dean whisked as hard as he could and could feel the burn setting in quickly.

“There you are, brother.  You see how it’s a little thicker now and lighter in color?  It’s ready for more oil.  You can add it in steadily, but keep whisking!”

Easier said than done Dean realized as he had no leverage to whisk briskly when one hand was holding the oil and not the bowl.  He tried trapping it with his body and the counter, but that made too awkward of an angle to stir.  He glanced over at the green team to see how Cas was faring.  He seemed to be in the same predicament.

“Okay, now add in the rest of the vinegar,” Benny said, “and continue whisking and adding more oil until it looks like mayonnaise.”

“Oh, is that all?” Dean asked and shook out his arm.  Damn this task sucked.

Dean whisked and poured oil and whisked.  He looked up at Cas again who definitely was whisking just as fast as he was.  Dean knew for a fact that hidden under the baggy chef’s coat he wore, Cas’ biceps were more than ready for the gun show.

“How’s it going, Novak?” Dean called out.  “Arm getting tired?”

“Not at all, Winchester.  Though I imagine my muscles aren’t as built up for this movement as yours are.”

Dean smiled.  The arm movements he was using for whisking were very different from the ones used for jacking off, but to the camera they probably looked very similar when moving this fast.

“Well, there’s more than one way to produce a creamy, white substance.”

Jody gasped, Benny guffawed and Kevin giggled manically.  Zachariah rolled his eyes.

 Children.  It’s like working with children.

Dean looked over at Cas.  The man looked back at him, fighting a smile.  Dean gave him a wink and Cas laughed and whisked harder.  Dean set the oil down and grabbed the bowl, whisking hard and fighting through the weakness in his muscles.  Then Benny tapped him on the shoulder.

“Check the level.”

Dean stopped whisking and raised the measuring bowl.  “Check!”

The green team shouted in dismay, and Cas put down his bowl and rubbed his arm.  Gabriel came over to the blue team’s station and checked the amount first.  Then he took a spoon and looked at the consistency before tasting it.  He nodded his head in approval.

“Blue team wins.”

Jody, Benny, and Dean cheered and all jumped up and down as they hugged each other.  Then Dean and Benny remembered they were on camera and pulled away and gave each other manly slaps on the back.

“Good work, blue team.  You’ve gained an advantage.”

“Advantage?” Jody asked tremulously.

“Yep.  The final part of this challenge is that you must use all of the ingredients you have prepped in the relay race to prepare oysters casino.”

 The *beep* is oysters casino?

“The advantage is that you can start now and don’t have to stop when the other team calls check after they finish their mayonnaise.  You all have thirty minutes, and that time starts now.”

Cas went back to furiously whisking as Zachariah and Kevin egged him on.  Dean looked at Benny and Jody.

“Any clue what the hell we’re making?” he asked.

“I think so,” Jody said.  “We always made it with a butter mixture, but I guess we can substitute the mayonnaise.  We should also be using shallots and not white onions, but we’ll work with what we’ve got.  I’ll get the mixture going, and I need one of you to get some bacon cooking.  Just a few strips.  And try baking it rather than frying it.  The other I need to get me salt, pepper, cayenne, and some lemon juice.”

Benny and Dean took off to follow Jody’s instructions.  Less than five minutes later they heard Cas call for a check.  They didn’t stop work and soon the green team was rushing around trying to prepare their dish.  Once Jody had everything mixed into the mayonnaise, the three of them scooped tablespoons of the mixture onto the oysters, and then placed a piece of baked bacon on top.  Then the tray was thrown in the oven and they stood looking at each other for three seconds before they all took off to get what they needed for plating.

Both teams finished with about thirty seconds to spare and Bela and Gabriel approached the blue team first.  The judges picked up a half shell and then Gabriel looked at the contestants and indicated the other oysters.  The trio realized they were sampling too and picked up a shell each.  Gabriel saluted them with the oyster.

“Bottoms up,” he said.

They took a shot of oyster and Dean barely even hesitated.  It’s not like they were raw, but they were still oysters.  The first flavor he got was bacon, and then the mixture, which was quite tasty.  Then he got the salty, fishy taste and felt the oyster meat on his tongue.  He gagged, but forced the mouthful down in one swallow.  He turned away and gagged one more time.  Gross.

“Not a big fan of oysters, Dean-o?” Gabriel asked with an eyebrow waggle.

“They’re not my favorite,” Dean said.

Gabriel and Bela moved on to the green team.  They all picked up an oyster and Kevin began to do a little nervous dance.

“I can’t.  I can’t.”

“Just try it,” Gabriel said.

The other four tipped their shells back and Kevin raised his to his lips and then he set it down and danced some more.

“I can’t!”

“Wimp,” Dean teased him.

“Shut up.  I just don’t want to spew on national television.”

“Okay,” Gabriel said after he and Bela were in front of them all again.  “I was very impressed with both.  They were well baked and the seasoning was different, but good in both.  I will say that while I appreciate the healthier alternative of bread crumbs, oysters casino really needs bacon.  So, the blue team wins!”

The blue team high fived each other while Cas and Kevin turned “I told you so” looks on Zachariah.  He put his hands in the air conceding that he had been wrong.

“Congratulations, blue team,” Bela said.  “There is no immunity for this Warm Up Challenge, but you will receive an advantage in the Elimination Challenge.  This will be a team challenge and you will work in the teams you are currently in.

“Did you all know that your residence here is less than ten minutes away from Marlins Park?  It’s the brand new baseball stadium that has only been in use for its second season now.  They’re looking to make this newest park a unique and memorable experience for baseball fans from all over the country, and to do that they’re looking to add new foods to their menu.

“Your challenge is to prepare a delicious snack for a day at the ballpark that is stadium food friendly and something different from the usual fare available at most stadiums around the country.  You’re going to need to make three different snacks and be prepared to serve at least three hundred hungry guests.  You’ll have a budget of five hundred dollars and you’ll be serving during an actual baseball game that is taking place tomorrow at one o’clock.

“You have fifteen minutes to plan and thirty minutes to shop at Super Foods.  You’ll have two hours in the America’s Next Top Chef kitchen to prep for tomorrow, and another hour and a half before service starts at the park.  Oh, and one more thing, that advantage the blue team has?  After you have planned your menu and selected your proteins, the green team can’t use any of those proteins.”

The blue team “Oo-ed” at that pleasant piece of news while the green team groaned and collapsed onto their station.

“Planning starts now, chefs.  I’ll see you at the ball park tomorrow.”

Dean, Benny, and Jody huddled up.

“So, you seem like sports type men,” Jody said.  “What do you like to eat at games?  My only experience is with little league and that’s corndogs and French fries.”

“That’s kind of what big leagues are like too,” Dean said.

“Exactly,” Benny mused.  “There’s not much difference except the beer.  So I wonder if rather than making brand new things for people to eat, which they may be leery of, we can just make high end versions of them.”

“Like, what?” Jody asked.  “Beef tenderloin instead of hotdogs and puff pastry instead of cornmeal?”

Benny snapped his fingers and pointed at her.  “Beef wellington on a stick.”

Jody laughed.  “Well, it would be interesting.”

“Hey, blue team!” Zachariah called out.  “Are you finished?  It’s kind of hard to plan a menu over here when we don’t know what proteins we **can’t** use.”

“Then you better plan for something that can be made with anything,” Dean called back.

After a few more minutes of discussion, they decided to do a play on nachos and take a risky foray into bringing potstickers to the game of baseball.  They opted to go with items that didn’t require two hands and a plate to eat.  They delivered the relatively tame news to the green team that they couldn’t use beef or pork, and it only brought a couple grumbles.

When they got back from Super Foods, Dean worked like a madman mixing up the filling for his potstickers and then individually filling nine hundred wanton wrappers.  This would never pass for stadium food; it was much too labor intensive.  Benny and Jody helped out where they could, but he still had two hundred and fifty potstickers to fill and both dipping sauces to make for tomorrow.

Everyone was tired by the time they loaded up in the van to head back to the residence, but even still the others managed to sneak their way into the van in such a way that Cas and Dean were forced to sit on the front bench together.  They didn’t speak, but when the van took a sharp turn and Cas slid into Dean’s side, neither pulled away.

At the residence they went for another easy meal of spaghetti and talked about the dishes each of them were preparing.  Dean was surprised that Kevin was going for a whole chicken sandwich.  It sounded like it would taste good, but it seemed like it was more work than even Dean’s potstickers.

After dinner the group split up and Dean saw Cas heading for Kevin’s room.  He debated for only a moment before he decided to retrieve his balls from wherever the fuck they had been hiding.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean started and then took a step back when the man turned around.

“Yes?”

“Um.  Can we talk?”

Cas crossed his arms over his chest.  He didn’t respond, but he didn’t walk away like Dean had.  He guessed he deserved that.

“Um, I’m sorry I’ve been behaving like a dick.”

Cas nodded.

“And I’m sorry—about what I said about Meg.”

Cas’ face registered surprised and he relaxed his stance a little.  “Really?”

“Yeah.  You’re right, I don’t really know her.  But,” _Stop talking Dean his brain yelled at him_ , “I just know people like her.”

Cas’ face hardened again and the defensive body language returned.  “'People like her.’”

“Look, Cas, I know she was your friend, but I read people really well.  It’s what kept me alive when I was in Afghanistan.  And she just sets off all my warning bells.”

Cas rolled his eyes.  “Well, thanks for the warning, Dean.  Let me know if you feel a twinge in your big toe so I know to bring my umbrella with me.”

“Cas,” Dean said exasperatedly as the man turned and walked away from him.  Dean dropped his head back and counted to ten, remembering that wringing Cas’ stupid, beautiful, fucking perfect neck would get him kicked out of the competition.  He left the hallway and headed to the bathroom to take a shower.  He put his whisking motion to good use that night.

***

“Order up!” Jody called out.  “Two potstickers, one pizza nacho, two wellington dogs!”

Dean couldn’t be bothered to feel overwhelmed by the overwhelming situation he was currently in.  Panic took time, and he didn’t have time to stop working for a single minute.  As soon as they had been open for business, they had been slammed with orders.  They would be through all three hundred servings of each item in less than two hours, he was certain of it.  He was also certain a few nachos sat a little too long and got soggy and some potstickers were served a little on the cold side, but they were careful not to let any of those fall into the judges’ hands.

When all they had left were five orders of pizza nachos, they finally got to breathe.  And those five nachos were gone within another five minutes and they were left with the task of cleaning up the borrowed kitchenette to a “state cleaner than the one they had found it.”  This was why Dean’s first order of business after expanding the Roadhouse had been to hire a dishwasher and not a line cook.  He hated doing dishes.

Afterwards they were allowed to go into the stands to watch the remainder of the game, and Dean took the opportunity to relax with a cold beer while the Marlins got demolished by the Cardinals.  All in all Dean was feeling pretty good.  The three of them had worked together remarkably well and he’d caught snippets of customers’ conversations praising their offerings.  Then again, people really shouldn’t complain about free food anyway.

After the game they were all driven to the studio for judging.  Only the four usual judges were present and the contestants were arranged according to their team.  Bela waited for her cue and then smiled at all of them.

“Hello, chefs.  I’d like to congratulate you all on a very successful outing to the ballpark.  We were quite pleased with most of what we had today.  We also surveyed all the diners and took their feedback into account.  Based on their votes, we have a winning and a losing team.  The winner will be selected from the winning team, and the eliminated chef from the losing team.  Now, according to popular vote, the winning team is…the blue team!”

The blue team had a moment of relieved joy as they hadn’t been entirely sure they might win.  They shook hands and gave each other quick hugs.

“Congratulations, blue team.  However, that means I’m sorry, green team, but you’ve come out on the bottom.  Though I will tell you it was very close.  Less than a dozen votes separate the two teams."  Benny let out a low whistle.  "Now, tell us who made what.”

“I made the Wellington Dogs,” Jody said.

“I quite liked them,” Crowley said.  “Always felt like it wasn’t right to eat a corndog, but this made it seem much more appealing to eat meat on a stick.”

“I’m not quite sure if it was whimsical or ridiculous,” Naomi said, “but it did taste good.”

“Who made the pizza nachos?” Gabriel asked.

“I did,” Benny said.

“Not gonna lie.  It wasn’t my favorite.  The concept was okay, but the flavors were a little canned.”

 I made that sauce from scratch.

“Also, the chips got soggy very fast,” Bela said, “so it wasn’t the most appetizing by the time you were halfway through with it.”

“We decided to layer the sauce rather than only putting it on top as nobody likes to get to the bottom chips and find them dry and topping-less.”

“Nobody like soggy chips either.”

“So, the potstickers were you, Dean?” Crowley asked.

Dean nodded.  “They were pork based mixed with scallions, bell peppers, and cayenne.  I also used catsup and yellow mustard as flavoring as an ode to the classic ball park frank.”

“It was very good.  As were the sauces.  Why did you make two?”

“Well, I prefer my potstickers with a sauce that has some heat to it, but not everyone does.  So I made a mild one as well.”

“A wise decision,” Naomi said.

“I was thinking of you, Naomi.”

Dean grinned and Naomi leveled him with an even stare.  He stopped smiling.

“The sauces though were a bit messy considering people were trying to eat them while standing or sitting.  Quite a few shirts came away with stains."

Dean shrugged a shoulder.  What could he do about that?

Bela stood up from the table with the spatula canister.  She called the winning team forward and went through the ceremony with them.  Jody came in first for her play on corn dogs and won a cruise to the Bahamas.  Dean felt his potstickers might have been a touch more cruise-worthy.  He was called second and then Benny.  Then Bela returned to her seat for the judging of the losing team.

“So, who made what?” Bela asked.

“I made the fish tacos,” Cas said.

“Honestly, it was my favorite,” said Crowley.  “It was also highly rated by the public.  Good job knowing who your local audience was.”

“What fish did you use?” Naomi asked.

“To help with costs and leave enough in our budget for the other dishes, I used tilapia.”

“And I think that was a good idea,” Crowley said.  “The marinade you used was amazing.  All you needed was a fish that could carry the flavor for you and the tilapia did that wonderfully.”

“Thank you, Chef.”

“I also liked the dressing you used,” Bela said.  “What was that?”

“It was mayonnaise seasoned with cayenne, cilantro, garlic, pepper, lime juice, and a little caper juice.”

“I was wondering what that flavor was,” Naomi said.  “It was quite intriguing.”

Cas nodded and Dean could tell he wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not.

“Who made the apple fries?”

“That was me,” Zachariah said.  “I figured with all that salt, a sweet treat might be appreciated.”

“You were certainly right,” Gabriel agreed.

“I love how you were able to get the outside crunchy, but the apple was also still crisp inside and tasted like apple and not like fried batter,” Bela said.

“The caramel sauce,” Gabriel said with his hands flat on the table and his eyelids fluttering.  “To die for.  Yours was hands down my favorite of the day.”

Zachariah had his hands clasped behind his back and smiled as he rolled from his heels to his toes, quite pleased with himself.

“So, the chicken sandwich was yours then, Kevin?” Bela asked.

“Yes.”

“I liked it a lot,” Gabriel said.  “It was well seasoned and all the components went well together.”

“The problem,” Naomi interjected immediately, “was that it was a bit difficult to handle.  Especially while standing or sitting with no table to put a plate down on.  It required two hands to eat and even then, most of the innards squished out when you took a bite.  I wound up with more sandwich in my lap than in my mouth.”

“I’m very sorry about that, Chef.”

“But the flavors were definitely there,” Crowley said.

Bela took up her canister again.  “It’s always a shame when every chef creates a really good dish with exciting flavors and new concepts and we still have to send someone home.  But for this challenge, innovation and taste weren’t the only criteria.  The food also had to be stadium friendly.”  Bela flipped over two spatulas with Zachariah’s and Cas’ names on them.  “And for that reason, Kevin, we had to cut you.”

Kevin’s head dropped.  Dean shook his head.  What would it take to get rid of Zachariah?  He’d much rather see him go home before Kevin or anyone else still in the competition.  Then he wondered if Cas would accuse him of being too hard on Zachariah too.  Dean crossed his arms, irritated by something Cas technically hadn’t even done.

“Kevin, please return to the kitchen and pack up your knives.”

“I’d like to thank you all for this opportunity.  I really learned a lot and I’m grateful for the experience.”

The judges all smiled at him, some showing actual regret that he was leaving.  Kevin walked over to the group and hugged everybody.  Dean picked him up off his feet and he laughed when he was set back down.  Dean ruffled his hair and the kid gave them all a wave as he walked out of the room.

  Well, this is not the result I wanted.

 But I really did learn so much from this whole experience.  And I’m going to take everything I learned back with me to Michigan and work hard until I can open my own restaurant.  And I will, just you wait and see.

 Oh.  And I totally hope Dean and Cas work things out.

***

Dean couldn’t believe how small their group was when they all walked into the condo after their dinner out.  He truly was amazed he had lasted this long.  He felt a niggling worm of hope in the back of his mind—he might have a shot at winning this thing.

Jody found Kevin’s note on the kitchen counter and got teary-eyed as she read it aloud.  Dean rubbed at his eye when some dust particles somehow got into it.

“You know,” Zachariah said, “I will miss that kid.  Liked him better than the rest of you.”

“Thank you,” Dean said.

Zachariah smiled at him.  “You’re welcome.  Well, I’m off to bed.”

“I think I’m headed that way, too,” Cas said.

Dean leaned on the counter and watched him go.  He looked up and saw Jody and Benny staring at him.  He stood up straight.

“What?”

They nodded in Cas’ direction.  Dean rolled his eyes but walked after Cas.

“Cas, hold up a minute,” he said as he caught up to him at the T-intersection that divided the bedrooms and the bathrooms.

The man stopped walking and turned around slowly.  He wasn’t prickly and defensive, but he also looked like he wasn’t about to give Dean the time of day let alone a moment of his time.

“Look, man, we gotta talk.”

“We’ve already talked, Dean.”

“No, I said something and you inferred a meaning from it without checking to see if you were right.”

Cas raised his eyebrows in mild surprise at the accusation.

“I just—I want to explain myself.  That’s all.  I think I had such a bad reaction to Meg because she reminded me of someone I used to know.  And that’s not fair to her, but I’m telling you Cas—I just am very cautious because of something that happened in my past.  It just seems better to condemn innocent people who may potentially cause problems than run the risk, however small, of that person actually causing a problem.  Because sometimes it’s so bad it’s almost impossible to recover from.”

Cas looked concerned now, but he kept his distance.

“Just, let me explain myself and then if you’re still ticked at me that’s fine.  I’ll be honest, I’m not going to change my opinion of Meg and I’m not trying to change yours because we don’t really know anything about her.  But.  I want you to understand why I’m a judgmental bastard.”

“Okay.  Go ahead.”

Dean inhaled deeply and let it out slowly.  He glanced around and noticed they were flanked by two cameras, one for his reaction shots and one for Cas’.  He ground his teeth in anger.  Couldn’t they have one fucking minute of privacy?  Then Dean turned and opened one of the bathroom doors.

“Will you please come in here with me?”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Dean.”

“Please, Cas.  This involved my brother.”

Cas considered him for a moment longer and then stepped into the bathroom.  Dean shut the door, but still didn’t feel secure.  He knew those microphones were powerful.  He walked over to the shower and opened the door.

“Seriously?” Cas asked when he realized where Dean wanted them to talk.

“Humor me.”

Cas shook his head but took his shoes off before stepping into the shower.  Dean took off his shoes too and closed the glass door behind them.  He sat down on the floor and waited for Cas to join him.  The shower was big enough that they both could sit cross-legged across from each other with about one foot of space between them.

“So, what’s this all about?” Cas asked, leaning back against the wall.

“It’s about a chick named Ruby.”

“And?”

“And before I get to that I need to fill you in on my history a little bit.”  Dean looked down at his hands and wasn’t quite sure how to start.  He’d never done this before.  He didn’t talk about his tragic past or his family with anyone.  Not even those he claimed to share everything with.  Maybe if he’d been willing to talk about this with Cassie they’d still be together.  A half-smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.  Was he destined to only fall in love with people who had “Cas” in their name?

Dean looked up and met Cas’ steady, cool blue gaze.  He wasn’t even shocked by the revelation that he loved Cas.  It had only taken him a couple of weeks to fall for Cassie too.  Dean was determined not to fuck it up this time.

“My mother died when I was four.  Well, she was killed when I was four.  My father was never able to cope with that.  He was a mechanic when it happened, but he felt the police were doing such an incompetent investigation that he applied to the force and made detective in six years.”

Cas raised an eyebrow.  “That’s impressive.”

“My dad was—dedicated.  Anyway, we—my brother, Sam, and I—had some relatives on my mom’s side that helped out with us in the beginning, but by the time I was eight and Sam was four I was pretty much taking care of him.  And I liked it that way.  I knew that if I was looking out for him that it was being done right.  And you know, I helped him with his homework and taught him how to ride a bike.  I learned how to mend holes in his clothing and how to manage our limited budget.”

“You learned how to cook,” Cas said quietly.

Dean nodded.  “Yep.  So, for fourteen years I basically raised Sam while my dad was out looking for a killer whose trail had gone cold over a decade ago.  And I didn’t mind it.  I didn’t.  It wasn’t an obligation.  I love Sammy and would do anything for him.  It was just—living with my dad was hard.  I mean, he wasn’t around a lot, but as I got older he started paying more attention to me.  He completely shut down any talk about college saying that I needed to apply directly to the police academy.  And I mean, I needed at least two years at a community college before I could even do that.  But he thought I could just take some bullshit courses and work to earn money and help him out to start learning how to follow him into the force.  And I just—I felt trapped.”

Dean laughed humorlessly and leaned his head back against the tiled wall.

“So, I did one better than run off and join the circus.  I ran off and joined the Marines.  It was so stupid.  I was tired of being bossed around and having my life being controlled by the whims of other people—and I thought the solution to that was the military.

“In the end it was a good decision.  I don’t regret having the experience or living through what I’ve lived through.  It made me the man I am today.  Such as I am.”

Dean moved his head to look down when he felt something on his hand.  Cas had taken his hand gently in his.  Dean looked at where they were joined.  He rubbed his thumb over the back of Cas’ hand and kept his eyes down as he continued his story.

“The only thing I regret is not discussing it with Sam first.  Or at least trying to explain my situation to him.  I just told him I was leaving, and then I left.  We kept in touch of course: weekly letters and monthly phone calls.  But—I didn’t see it.  I didn’t see how deeply it had affected him until it was too late.  I had just returned from my first tour in Afghanistan.  I spent two years on a base in Germany and then two years in the Sandbox.  I had the option of getting out, maybe even using the GI Bill, but I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do.  I was waiting on base for a visit from Sam and my dad.  They never showed up.  It took all day for me to get ahold of my dad and when I did—he just said that Sam had been arrested and wouldn’t be able to make it.”

Dean shook his head at the memory, still hearing the detached manner in which his father had delivered the news.  Cas began to run his thumb over Dean’s fingers lightly.

“So, of course, I hauled ass home to see what was up.”  Dean closed his eyes and fought back a sudden wash of tears.  Cas squeezed his hand.

“He was—he wasn’t my little brother anymore.  He was so thin and gaunt.  His eyes were empty and his hair limp, his skin sallow.  He was—”  Dean broke off as his voice wavered.  Cas shuffled over until he was sitting pressed next to Dean and took one of Dean’s hands in both of his.  He waited for Dean to compose himself and continue.

“He had decided to cope with his pain by running away like I had.  Only, he couldn’t physically run away, so he used drugs.  It started out with just weed.  And I can understand that, you know?  Sometimes you want your brain to just go into standby mode for a while.  But then he met a girl.  Ruby.  And she got him hooked on heroin.  And it went downhill fast from there.  He started skipping school and his grades—he’d always been a straight A student—completely tanked.  He spent what money dad left him for food on keeping up a steady supply for him and Ruby.  Then he started stealing.  He was caught trying to rob a minimart with a fucking Snickers bar.”

Dean raised one knee and planted his foot on the floor as he tried to push away the images of Sam in that prison cell.  He hadn’t allowed himself to see that in so long.

“He was malnourished because he hadn’t been eating.  He’d contracted Hepatitis C and was shaking and vomiting and crying from the pain of withdrawal.  I wanted to do nothing.  I wanted to be a kid and have my dad fix everything.  But, he never had before, so why would he now?  I told Dad he was going to have to get the charges dropped.  Call in a hundred favors, forge the paperwork, whatever.  I wasn’t going to let this ruin Sam’s life.

“I went to my commanding office and explained the situation.  I was granted a six month sabbatical that I could use to get my shit together, otherwise I would be discharged.  I couldn’t afford to just quit, you see.  Sam needed to be taken care of.

“The one thing my dad did manage to do was get the charges dropped.  And then he spent the better part of the night just yelling at Sam.  The poor kid didn’t even hear half of it he was so messed up.  The next day I put us in my car and we drove from Kansas to New York.  I cleaned out my savings account to get Sam into a methadone clinic.  It’s kind of like a fucking miracle.  One treatment and you can see the hold heroin has on people immediately lose its grip.  I only let him get three treatments.  And then I just dealt with the repercussions of the methadone withdrawal.  It took two months, but I finally felt like I didn’t need to have him handcuffed to me every second of the day and night.  And believe me, there was a lot of talking that went on during those two months.  Talking and screaming and accusing and crying.  I’m not going to get into the details…”

“That’s fine,” Cas said.  “But…do you mean literally handcuffed?”

Dean shrugged a shoulder.  “My dad was a cop.”

Cas let out a soft laugh and leaned his head against Dean’s.  “After that he got better?”

“Well...yes.  And no.  For a while.  He’d done so poorly in school and had missed so much class that he flunked his senior year.  During the summer before the next school year, he was working at a library to keep him busy and to keep him away from loud, hectic places.  He got lucky, man; his Hep C was completely eradicated with treatment, and there’s like only a fifty percent chance of that happening.  Everything was going smoothly.  But then Ruby came back.

“See, I didn’t know her.  She didn’t get arrested with him and he didn’t really talk about her.  But, I could tell something was off about her.  She was a little older than him.  Not much, but old enough that she really shouldn’t be interested in a seventeen year old kid.  And she had a way of never saying anything outright incriminating, but she just—Cas, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I just **knew** she was hiding something from me.  I **knew** she wasn’t…good.  I told Sam he should not hang around her so much, and he said he wouldn’t, and he was doing so well that I believed him…”

Dean cut off and bit his lip.  He didn’t want to talk about the next part.  He didn’t like to think about it.  He’d shoved it so far down it felt like it was someone else’s story that had been told to him.  But the face—it was always Sammy’s.  Cas’ hands tightened around his.

“I came home from visiting the base one day.  I’d gone to talk to my CO about going in for another tour.  I thought Sammy was on track and Dad was…he was home a little more.  I came home and called out for Sam.  He didn’t answer.  I went up to his room and opened the door.  Ruby was on the bed, naked, eyes glazed, mind completely gone.  Sam—”

Dean could do nothing about the two tears that escaped his eyes and fell to his cheeks.  Cas leaned over and kissed one away.

“Sam was passed out on the floor.  A needle still sticking out of his fucking arm.  There was vomit on his chin and chest.  I thought he was dead.  I thought he’d OD-ed.  I called 911 and started CPR.  He was in the hospital for two weeks.  I honestly don’t remember a lot about what happened in those two weeks.  I know my Uncle Bobby came down from South Dakota.”  Dean laughed with a little confusion.  “You know, I don’t even remember anymore if he’s really my uncle or not.  But he stayed with us for the rest of my three and a half months of leave.  It felt so good to have someone to depend on.  Someone who could help me.

“Then the time came that I had to make a decision about going back to the Marines.  I knew I couldn’t leave Sam.  I couldn’t do it again.  But Bobby said I needed to have a chance to have my own life.  That Sam and I had to learn that we could live without each other.  Dad agreed to sign over his guardianship and Uncle Bobby took Sam back with him to South Dakota.  I went back to the Marines and began my second tour.  I made sure I kept in better contact with Sam.  And I—ugh, I talked about my feelings in my letters.”  Cas let out a quiet huff of laughter.  “We stayed open and honest with each other and that helped us feel like we didn’t need to run away anymore.  Sam repeated his senior year and was salutatorian at Sioux Falls High School.  He got a couple scholarships and applied for financial aid and went to freaking Stanford.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Yeah.  He is.  So, happy ending.  But the moral is—don’t trust chicks named Ruby.”

“Or chicks who kind of remind you of Ruby.”

Dean shrugged.  He turned one of Cas’ hands over in his and traced a pattern on his palm.  In for a penny, in for a pound.

“There’s a little bit more story.”

“Go on.”

“After Sam left, and I was gone, Dad didn’t have a reason to try any longer.  To try to moderate his drinking.  To try doing something other than obsess about his wife’s killer.  I was out on a mission that kept us under minimal radio contact for two weeks.  By the time I got back to camp, my dad’s funeral had already taken place.  He’d wrapped the car around a light pole.  The official police report said there was no alcohol involved—he was highly respected for his investigative work.  He had an 80% solve rate…But, my dad’s system hadn’t been completely free of alcohol in ten years or more.  If it wasn’t a car accident, I’m sure his liver would have given out on him before too long.  I’m just glad he didn’t hurt anyone else.”

Dean exhaled, feeling drained and raw and exposed.  This was why he didn't talk about this shit with people.  It made him seem pathetic and weak.  It made it painfully obvious that he was messed up beyond repair.  He could function in the world with a facade firmly in place, but when anyone saw behind it they pulled away.  He'd only shared a modicum of all this with Cassie and she had left him.

Something inside him shuddered.  Cas knew everything.  He knew **everything**.

Dean raised Cas’ palm to his lips and kissed it.  “Please,” he whispered against it.  “Please don’t...”

He stopped.  What could he say?  Don't see how messed up I am?  Don't save yourself by ending this?

Cas pulled his hands away and Dean looked up, terrified Cas was about to walk away from him.  But then Cas took his face in his hands and rubbed his thumbs over his cheeks, wiping away the last few stray tears.  He held Dean’s gaze and his irises were so clear and bright a blue that he felt like he was looking into something much more than just a pair of eyes.

“I’m not going to go anywhere, Dean.”

Dean sighed and closed his eyes.  He welcomed the warm press of Cas’ lips to his and the comfort of his embrace.


	9. Round 8

Dean lay with a hand behind his head, Cas tucked into his side, and his other hand lightly tracing patterns over the man’s T-shirt clad shoulder.  They had been in that bathroom a long time, but Dean was certain they could have stayed until morning and the cameras would have waited them out.  So, when they came out, they didn’t speak and parted ways, leaving everyone to wonder if they had made up or not.  Later when Dean was certain the cameras were occupied with Zachariah and Benny discussing their ability to know poisonous vegetation from edible and Jody crying in the computer alcove as she talked to her son, he snuck out of his room and into Cas’.  With Kevin gone, he had the room to himself.  Dean had shut the door, but the locks on the bedroom doors had been disabled by the production staff.  He wasn’t worried about anyone thinking to come looking for them though and they had as quietly as possible pushed two of the twin beds together, using several extra full size blankets they found in the closet to try to mitigate the crack between the two mattresses.  It was there that they had lain together for over an hour, neither speaking or demanding more from their contact than simple comforting touches.

“Dean, are you going to stay the night?”

Dean was a little startled by the question and tilted his head down a bit to look at Cas, but from his angle all he could see was his nose and lips.

“Ah, well, I can leave if you want me to.”

“Of course I don’t want you to leave.”

“Oh.  Well, then I’ll stay.  I don’t think they know I’m in here, and Benny won’t rat me out.  We’ll probably get busted in the morning, but…”

He trailed off implying he didn’t really care about the consequences.

Cas nodded his head against his chest.  Dean trailed his fingers a little lower on the man’s arm so he could feel his warm skin.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“Um…I know I offered my story, so that doesn’t mean you’re obligated to tell me anything, but, if you want to talk about—anything…I’d like to know more.”  He couldn’t quite bring himself to say the “about you,” and he had no idea why that would be crossing a line for him.  Issues, man, issues.

Cas shrugged and tapped his fingers on Dean’s chest.  “Not much to tell, really.  Not anything like what you’ve been through.  My life isn’t untouched by tragedy, but I had a good childhood.  Mostly.”  Cas chuckled.  “Mostly,” he repeated softly.

Dean kissed the top of Cas’ head.  “You had a sister?”

“Have.  Still have two.”

“Three sisters?  That’s a lot to deal with.”

Cas’ fingers tapped down Dean’s sternum.  “Mm.  And four brothers.  I’m the fifth of eight children.”

“No shit.  That’s crazy.  Are you like Mormon or something?” he asked with a teasing nudge of his shoulder.

“No.  But, let’s just say my father is…very prolific.  I have two half-brothers and a half-sister as well.”

“Damn.  Dude got around I take it.”

“No.  They were from a previous marriage, one mother.”  Cas laughed.  “This is so awful.  My half-brother, Raph, was detained as we were leaving a mall one day because they thought he was kidnapping me and my younger brother.”

“Jesus.  Why?”

“His mother is black, so apparently our skin tones didn’t match properly according to the mall cop that stopped him.  Racist fuck.”

Dean chuckled.  “I have a half-brother too.  Dad knocked up some nurse he met when he was drunk or working a case.  Possibly both.  Kid’s nice though.  Snarky as fuck.  Definitely a Winchester.  We don’t see him much because he lives in Minnesota.  Hey, is Windom near St. Cloud?”

“Mm, not really.  It’s about three hours away by car.”

“Oh.  Then I guess you’ve probably never run into him.  Are you still close with your half-siblings?”

“Unfortunately, no.  They were all much older than I.  The youngest was fifteen when I was born.  And after they went to college and got jobs and families, we never really stayed in contact.  My mom and their mom didn’t particularly like each other.  And my dad wasn’t around a whole lot.  For either set of kids.”

“Guy sounds like a deadbeat.”

Cas shrugged, and then Dean winced.

“Uh, sorry.  I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay.  I mean, he supported us financially and he had a lot of expectations for us and plans and rules.  But, he never really followed any of his own rules, you know?  He was kind of…free-spirited…I guess is the word?  Or maybe just listless.  Though listless sounds like he’s lazy.  I think he always suffered from wanderlust.  But he’s so kind.  And funny.  And he loved us—but in a tough love kind of way.  Except when it was a fluffy hug us and pamper us kind of way.  It’s just, when he was around, we loved him.  We were so happy with him and felt at peace when he was home.  We—all of us—pretty much worshipped him.  And then he would leave.  And we all coped in different ways.  A couple of my siblings thought that if they would follow the rules more closely then he would come back and want to be with us.  A couple of us decided not to follow any rules because if he couldn’t even bother to be around why should we care about what he wants?  And the rest were just caught in the crossfire.”

Cas laughed.  “Okay, so maybe my childhood had a few more problems than your run of the mill ones.  But, my mom was perfect.”

“Perfect, huh?”

“Oh, yes.  You see, she died giving birth to my youngest sister, so I only knew her for eight years.  And to an eight year old, your mom is always perfect.”

“Yeah, I can relate to that.”

“I thought you might.”

Dean glanced down at Cas again, wondering what he meant by that.  He decided not to pursue it though.

“If you don’t mind me asking, which sister…” he trailed off, feeling like an ass for even starting the question.

“The youngest.  Leukemia.  She was twelve.”  Cas inhaled like he was going to speak again, but then didn’t.  Dean groped for anything to change the topic.

“So, can you name all your siblings?”

Dean rolled his eyes.  How was that a different topic?  He felt Cas shift against him, but he didn’t pull away.  If anything he settled more firmly against him.

“Of course I can,” he said, his warm breath permeating the thin T-shirt Dean wore and caressing his skin.

“Well, you know, seven is a lot.  Sometimes I have trouble remembering Sam’s name.”

“Liar.”

“Okay.  I remember the Sam part—but I have no idea what his middle name is.”

“Hmm, well, let’s see,” Cas said, walking his fingers down Dean’s chest.  “Michael is the oldest and Luke was barely ten months behind him.”

“Your poor mother,” Dean said.

Cas’ fingers strummed over his stomach.  “Then came Hester about three years later and Anna was two behind her.”

Dean’s body twitched and he hitched in a breath to keep from squirming from the ticklish feeling of Cas walking his fingers over his belly button.

“Then three years later there was me.”

“An auspicious day that must have been.”

“Mm.  Regular red letter day.”  His fingers tapped over Dean’s abdomen.  “Then there was my brother Inias who is…ugh, two and a half years younger?  Then Samandriel was less than a year after him.”

Dean exhaled softly as Cas’ fingers danced on top of the button of his jeans.

“And last?” he managed to choke out.

“Last was Rachel.  She was born almost five years after that.  She was a bit of a surprise.”

Cas spread his hand over Dean’s fly and gave his member a couple of strong, massaging squeezes before running his hand all the way back up to Dean’s chest.  Dean felt the sharp disappointment of the retreat like a stab to his gut.

“So, so…”  Dean licked his lips and tried to focus his thoughts.  “What happened with the second batch of kids?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you and your two brothers have some weird ass names.”

Cas chuckled.  “I don’t know.  I guess after four kids they decided to get creative.  If it helps, we called Samandriel ‘Sami.’  Oh!  And my half-siblings’ names are even more out there.  The twins are named Raphael and Raphaela.  I’m not sure what they were thinking when they did that.  And my other brother is named Uriel.”

“Uriel?” Dean asked.  “Jesus Christ.  Your dad is weird.  I feel like that was your dad’s doing.”

“Probably.  He studied religious texts as one of his many passionately pursued and quickly abandoned hobbies and projects.”

“Maybe he just needs Ritalin.”

“Mm.  Maybe.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, and then Dean couldn’t take it anymore.

“Cas will you…can you…”

“Can I what?”

“Touch me again,” he mumbled.

“What was that?  I didn’t catch that,” Cas said smugly.

But Dean knew he was a fucking liar because his hand had returned to his groin.  He cupped Dean’s half erect cock and massaged it enthusiastically.  Dean grunted and spread his legs just a little.  Cas turned his head up and began kissing the underside of Dean’s jaw.

“Do you like it when I touch you, Dean?”

Dean turned his head away from him.  “I’m not going to answer that.”

Cas pulled his hand away.  “Then I’m not going to touch you.”

“Aw, come on, man.”

“Come on, what?”

“Cas.”  Dean sighed.  “Look, I understand the importance of talking about your feelings, like, once a decade or so.  But, I’m not that kind of person.  I don’t like to be vulnerable.  It’s the equivalent of being in danger for me.  Not just from my experiences with my dad, but being in the Marines.  Being in a war zone.  I need you to be prepared for that.  Tomorrow morning, I’m not going to be all lovey-dovey and holding your hand.  That’s just not me.”

“I understand that.  And I’m fine with it.  You wouldn’t be you if you were any other way.”

Dean frowned, and then gasped as Cas suddenly sat up and straddled him, settling his ass in his lap so that Dean’s hard cock was cradled in his body—as best it could be with their clothes in the way.

“But, Dean, I wasn’t talking about your feelings.  I was asking you to talk dirty.”  He rolled his hips in a grinding circle and Dean’s soft laugh ended in a short moan of pleasure.

“Right.  I knew that.”

“Mm-hmm.  Now, Dean,” Cas said as he trailed a finger around on Dean’s chest.  “I’m going to give you a choice.”

“I like choices,” Dean said as he put his hands to Cas’ hips to try to get him to make that awesome movement again.

“I’m going to let you decide if you want to top or bottom tonight.”

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Cas put a finger over his lips.

“Ah, ah,” Cas said, running his finger over Dean’s bottom lip and smiling when Dean kissed the digit.  “If you top…I’m going to ride you.  Slow and easy and endless.  And we’re going to move together gently until we’re hot and sweating and vibrating with the need to come.  We’re going to make love if you top.  Nice and quiet and secret.”

Dean nodded vigorously.  That sounded awesome.

“Or, if I top…I’m going to deepthroat you and then fuck you into the mattress.  And I’m going to make you scream.”

Dean’s eyes went wide as Cas tilted his head to the side with a small smile.

“What’s your choice, babe?”  (timestamp available)

***

Dean opened the bedroom door, his smile instantly fading as he saw Jerry with a camera trained on his face.

“Don’t you work the night shift?” Dean grumped as he closed the door behind him and walked toward the bathrooms.

“Yes, but the morning shift just got here.  They’re setting up.”

“Aren’t you supposed to not talk to me?”

Jerry laughed.  “I knew I’d find you there.  Got Benny coming out this morning and the bedroom was empty.  Only one place you would be.  Well, two, but you weren’t on the balcony.  I had to come get your walk of shame.”

Dean laughed as he got to the bathroom.  “Walk of shame?  Not even close, man.”

“Are you sure you guys don’t want me to document it one time?  Just for posterity?”

Dean gave him a look as he shut the bathroom door in his camera lens.

***

“Hello, Cheftestants!” Bela was dressed extra sexy today for some reason.

“Here we are at the final five.  Only three more challenges remain until we have our two finalists.  Who are they going to be?”

Dean looked side to side with just his eyes to see if anybody was raising their hand.  Nobody was, so he kept his hand at his side.

“You all are so modest!  Well, don’t be shy about welcoming this week’s guest judge.  She’s an influential trendsetter in both the culinary and art worlds, and hosts _Edible Art_ on the Cooking Channel.  Please welcome, Pamela Barnes!”

The chefs clapped as Pamela strutted into the kitchen looking like concentrated sex in heels.  No wonder Bela had stepped up her game.  Dean smiled.  Cas was awesome, but he hadn’t gone blind overnight.

“Hello, chefs,” Pamela said, looking over the group.  Her eyes lingered on Dean and he gave her a wink.  She smiled back.  Cas stepped on the back of his heel.  Dean hissed out an “ow.”

“I’m thrilled to be here.  This is one of my favorite shows.  The chefs who are on this show are of such high caliber that mixing tantalizing flavors with superb aesthetics is second nature to you.”

Dean didn’t think that was an entirely accurate statement.

“So, I’m here today to see what you all can do.  On my show we strive to create works of art out of food.  Beautiful masterpieces that have just as much beauty in their appearance as they do in their ability to nurture the body.”

Dean tried to keep his features neutral, but this was starting to veer into new-agey, hippie spiritual crap territory.

“After all, we eat with our eyes first,” she said, eyes landing on Dean again.  He made sure to remain stone-faced as long as Cas was in stepping distance.

“Your Warm Up Challenge,” Bela said, “is to give us a feast for the eyes.  You may use any ingredients in the pantry and refrigerators and you will have one and a half hours to do this.”

Dean felt dread start to descend.  They were giving them that much time because they thought the chefs would need it.  How long were they supposed to spend on frou-frou-ing their dish?  It kind of seemed like a waste.

“Immunity is no longer available from this point forward for Warm Up Challenges, but this week’s winner will receive five thousand dollars from our sponsor, True Aim Salt.  We’d like to thank them for supplying us with pure, high-quality salt for our competitions.”

“My advice to you, chefs,” Pamela said, “Make sure it’s pretty.”

Dean’s brain worked furiously in the short break while the PAs got the set ready for the challenge.  He was trying to work backwards: think of what he wanted the final product to look like and then determine what ingredients and materials he would need.  Should he go literal and actually make a replica of a piece of famous art out of food?  He wasn’t sure if he remembered enough detail of any particular piece to do that.  Should he be more concerned about shape or colors?  Should it be more about technique?  He did actually know how to blow sugar, but that seemed a little excessive.  His panic got worse as the director yelled action.  He didn’t have a plan at all.

“Okay, chefs,” Bela said.  “Are you ready?  Time starts now!”

Dean turned and made for the protein refrigerator like he had a plan.  He allowed Zachariah and Jody to push ahead of him and pretended that he was just waiting patiently for his turn while he thought.  He saw Cas over in the produce section.  When he could, he grabbed a portion of beef tenderloin and beelined his way to his…friend?  Of the male variety.  That he had sex with.  And talked to about his feelings.  Thing.  Not a boyfriend.

“Hey, Dean.”

Dean blinked and realized he kind of had Cas cornered by the squashes.

“Hey.  What are you making?”

“Going vegetarian.  Meats are hard to make look pretty you know; it’s brown, grey, or white.  Maybe a little pink if you cut it open.  But, I want to work with colors a bit.”

Dean nodded.  “Smart.”

Cas grinned at him.  “I am.”  He rose up just a bit to peck Dean on the cheek and then squeezed past him to get to his station.

Dean stood in the pantry, mulling over what Cas had said.  Colors were an easy way to make something vibrant and appealing.  He couldn’t do vegetarian now though, he didn’t want to copy Cas.  And he didn’t like not serving meat; it wasn’t natural.  He looked at the wrapped tenderloin in his hand.  If he grilled it, it would just be grey on the outside, though the grill marks could be pretty.  He could cut it open and expose the medium rare center, but there was nothing special about that.  Then it struck him that he could do a tartare and keep the nice red color of the meat.  That could work.  Now what to go with it?  He glanced around the pantry and saw purple potatoes.  Those had a nice deep purple color, but combining that with bloody red might make it look like a bruise on the plate.  Green went with red, but he rejected the dark leafy greens and broccoli—he didn’t want it looking like Christmas.  Maybe a light colored green, like peas or a pesto.  His eyes fell on the cucumbers.  He grabbed one.  But he needed to do something with his flavors that would make him stand out since he was sure his plating skills were the least of the bunch.  And then he saw it: wasabi paste.  Bright green and full of kick.  Oh yeah.  It was all coming together now.

Dean worked furiously through the hour and a half, needing all of it for his “simple” dish because he had to experiment with his wasabi sauce.  The first two times had been disasters and he was about to give up on it altogether on the third go around, but when he added some orange zest to it, suddenly it was amazing.  He set the pot on a low heat to let it simmer and then finally started on his tartare.

With ten minutes to spare he grabbed a plate and his components and headed to his station.  He decided he was going to try to do some fancy carving or shaping techniques (that he had zero experience with) and started shaving off thin slices of cucumber and experimenting with it.  He glanced at the clock and knew he had time.  The sauce just needed to be spread on the plate and the tartare just needed to be packed into a circular mold.  He had plenty of time.  He kept checking the clock, and then he stopped looking as he almost had his cucumber folded just right.

“One minute, chefs!”

Dean looked up, his heart thudding.  What the hell happened to the five minute warning?!  Dean dropped his stupid cucumber and grabbed up his sauce.  The pot was heavier than he remembered and it pitched forward as he tried to dip a spoon in.  The sauce splashed up and spilled over the side.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean shouted as he shook his hand to get the hot liquid off his skin.

His plate was covered with a bright green, messy splat.  He looked at the clock and over at the shelves that housed the clean plates; it seemed miles away.

“Damnit, damnit, damnit,” Dean gritted out through his teeth and piled the tartare on the plate without use of the mold.  He dropped a couple pieces of spinach and onion randomly on the plate and grabbed two of his earlier efforts at rolling the cucumber.  He got them on the plate right when time was called.  He put a hand to his face and had to smile.  This was so embarrassingly awful it was funny.

 I don’t know what I was thinking.  Or what I was doing.  The plate is a mess.  I’m going to have to rely on taste if I’m going to save face at all on this one.

"Okay, chefs,” Pamela said, “we’re very excited to **see** your creations.”

“There’s just one little thing we didn’t tell you about this challenge,” Bela said.

Dean felt his stomach drop.  God he hated how many times the mad geniuses behind this show had done that to him.

“As you know this challenge is about aesthetics.  The thing is, it’s **all** about aesthetics.  We’re going to be judging on your plating alone, and won’t taste a single bite.”

Dean let his head drop.  “Fuck,” he said with feeling.

Bela and Pamela walked down the counter, examining each dish carefully and occasionally asking about an ingredient.  Then they returned to their marks at the front of the kitchen.

“Chefs, I was really impressed,” Pamela said.

“There are some very lovely plates that look too good to eat here,” Bela said.

“Zachariah,” Pamela started, “your stacking skills are amazing.  I like your use of colors and different textures and sizes of components to make each section different.  It really draws the eye to every part of the dish."

“Benny, I don’t know how you got that red color into pasta, but it is lovely.  I love geometric designs and the pops of yellow made it playful.”

Dean caught Benny’s eye and gave him a girly eyelash bat and one shoulder shrug.  Benny flicked him off under the counters.

“Jody, I liked the colors and the design, but for some reason everything looks kind of—soggy.”

 I may have been a touch overzealous with the egg wash.

Jody nodded her head.  “Yep.  That was not my intention.”

Pamela smiled.  “Best intentions, hon.  They always get ya.  Now, Cas, your plate is—breathtaking.”

Dean raised an eyebrow.  Breathtaking?  It was butternut squash and a clementine wedge.

“The colors are fun and inviting, but subdued and delicate.  The placement of everything is done to perfection.  The puree and the relish create wonderful contrasting textures.  The whole thing is just very beautifully put together.  Well done.”

“Thank you, Chef.”

“Dean.”

Dean tried not to wince.  “Yes.”

“I love your use of such vibrant colors.  And I really appreciate the wildness of your spirit coming through.  The culinary world is usually very precise and strict—it’s a breath of fresh air to see you buck against the system and express yourself so openly.”

“So, Pamela, who is our Warm Up Challenge winner and recipient of five thousand dollars provided by True Aim Salt?”

“The winner is the chef who truly made a work of edible art today.  And that is…Castiel.”

Dean clapped sincerely and gave the man a wink when he cast his eyes shyly in Dean’s direction.  He seriously couldn't believe how coy and innocent Cas played it for the cameras.

 A work of art?  He sprinkled vegetation on a plate.  My dish involved skill and steady hands.  That woman knows nothing about actual culinary skill.

“Now, chefs,” Bela said.  “I’m looking forward to this week’s elimination challenge.  It continues on in the same vein of making dishes that are artfully appealing, but with a twist.”

The contestants turned their heads as the swinging doors on the other side of the set opened to reveal a couple PAs wheeling carts into the room.  On the carts were five dishes with placards in front of them: Quiche, Chicken Pot Pie, Pasta Carbonara, Clam Chowder, Fish ‘n Chips.

“One of my favorite culinary tricks is deconstruction.”

Dean let out a small noise of dismay, but tried to mask his expression from the cameras.  He didn’t have the technical knowhow to do this kind of shit.

“I love seeing a favorite dish broken down and re-imagined because it often takes familiar flavors and reinvents them.  And of course, they look very cool.”

The chefs laughed uneasily.  They had a tri-fold challenge in front of them: deconstruct a dish, make the flavors familiar _and_ new, and make it look eye-catching.  Awesome.

“On the carts are five classic and well known dishes.  You will select one of these as your dish to deconstruct.  Castiel, since you won the Warm Up Challenge, you can select first.”

Cas walked around the counter and examined the dishes for a moment, and then he picked up the Clam Chowder placard.

Bela gave him a flirty smile.  “Interesting choice.  Now, you can choose who goes next.”

“Go ahead, Dean,” Jody said as Zachariah waved a hand for Dean to go on and Benny chimed in with, “It’s all you, brother.”

Cas made a face at them.  “I should choose someone else just to shut you guys up.”

Dean shot him a pleading look.

“But I won’t.  Dean, you can go next.”

Dean smiled and ignored the snarky murmuring of the other chefs as he walked over to the cart.  Pasta carbonara was out.  He didn’t know all the components of it and he wouldn’t have time to pick someone’s brain for the list before they had to go shopping.  They were also supposed to only use recipes they had stored in their heads and weren’t allowed to look anything up during the course of the competition.  Quiche was just a fancied up frittata and a waste of a pie crust.  Speaking of pie, he did like chicken pot pie, but there were a lot of components of that to separate out.  Fish and chips was pretty simple, but was it too simple?  Nah.  No such thing.

Dean picked up the fish and chips placard and walked back to the counter.  He did notice that Benny, Jody, and Zachariah all sighed with relief.  Had he made a mistake with his choice?

“Dean, who goes after you?” Bela asked.

“Um,” he looked at the other three.  “Ladies first.”

He gave Benny an apologetic look as Jody made her way to the table.  Benny gave him a little head nod to let him know there were no hard feelings.  Jody picked chicken pot pie.  Then she chose Benny who selected pasta carbonara.  Zachariah took the quiche placard and smiled at them.

“This is the one I wanted anyway.”

“Excellent,” Bela said.  “You have ten minutes to make a grocery list, and then twenty minutes to shop at Super Foods with a budget of one hundred dollars.  You’ll be making ten servings for the judges, myself, Pamela, and five food artists and sculptors from _Edible Art_.  You’ll have two hours to prep tonight, and one hour to finish tomorrow in Pamela’s kitchen.  Your planning time starts now.”

Dean whipped out his notepad and pen and started thinking.  He wrote down fish and potatoes.  Crap.  What else did he need for fish and chips?  He'd picked the one freaking dish that couldn’t be deconstructed.

“Contestants!” one of the producers got their attention.  “Castiel just asked if you all have to cook in Pamela’s kitchen at the same time.  The answer is yes and no.  You’ll be doing a staggered service in twenty minute intervals.  So, at most there will be three people in the kitchen, but it is large with two ovens and a six burner stovetop.  I’m sure you’ll all be able to make it work.  You’ll be serving in the order that you selected your dish.”

Dean absorbed that and thought pitifully that he’d only need twenty minutes to fry up some fish and oversized French fries.  He was so screwed.  A fact he shared with Cas as he leaned and pouted against him in the backseat of the minivan they had been downgraded to from the giant rape van they had been trundling along in the past few challenges.

“Come on, babe.  You just need to look at it as not fish and chips, but a fish and potato dish.  What would you make if you had to make a dish with fish and potatoes?”

Dean sighed and thought about it.  “I wouldn’t fry the fish.  I’d sauté it to keep it light, but then I need something crispy to give it that fried crunch.  Hm, like quinoa puffs or something.”

“That sounds interesting.  What about the chips?”

“Maybe if I didn’t make them British chips, but American chips.  I know how to make homemade potato chips.  But those don’t taste right with catsup.”

“Don’t you dare serve this dish with catsup, Dean.”

Dean laughed and turned his head to kiss Cas’ cheek.  “Wasn’t planning on it.  If I’m going to screw with the British chip part, I need to keep the flavoring there somehow.  Like malt vinegar.  Malt vinegar…I don’t want to put a cup of something liquid-y on the plate.  Oh.  I could make it a dip.  What would hold the malt flavor well?  Sour cream, yogurt?”

“You could use an egg yolk base and some wine and call it a sabayon.”

“I thought sabayon was for desserts.”

Cas shrugged.  “They can be savory.  Plus it sounds suitably pretentious for this challenge.”

Dean laughed and buried his face in Cas’ neck, kissing him affectionately, occasionally flicking his tongue out to taste the salt of his skin.  Zachariah turned around in his seat to look at them, but Dean didn’t stop.

“I know you two are—whatever—but why are you helping him?  Are you still going to help him if the finale comes down to just you two?”

Cas shrugged minutely, not wanting to dislodge Dean’s lips from his neck, and ran a hand through the hair on the back of Dean’s head.

“I am not thinking that far ahead right now.  Right now I’ve got to keep my fingers crossed that Super Foods got a fresh shipment of clams in today or I’m going to be stuck with frozen produce.”

“Hnn.”  From his tone Dean could tell Zachariah was frowning.  Then something lightly hit his back.  “Will you get off of him?!  Seriously.  You’re not teenagers.”

“No, we’re not,” Dean said, placing one last kiss to Cas’ pulse point.  He sat up and faced Zachariah.  “We didn’t know each other as teens, so we’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

Zachariah rolled his eyes.  Jody “awww-ed” from the passenger seat up front.

“That is so sweet, Dean.”

Dean blushed and slumped down in his seat away from Cas in a huff.  “It wasn’t supposed to be sweet; it was supposed to be dirty.”

“We got that part of it too, brother,” Benny said dryly.

Dean crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.  Cas leaned closer.

"What happened to my not going to be lovey-dovey macho man?"

Dean glared at him.  "Don't even start with me, Novak."

Cas' lips twisted as he fought a smile, but he left Dean alone to sulk in his corner.

The shopping trip for Dean was a little more stressful than usual.  At the literal last minute he decided to grab a couple other ingredients in case his attempt at making a savory sabayon failed miserably.  He barely made it back to the register in time with sour cream, plain yogurt, and old bay seasoning to have them included in his checkout.

The two hours at the set kitchen was a joke.  It felt like they’d been working for ten minutes when time was called.  The hour tomorrow would be a nightmare of time-crunching pressure.  He couldn’t cook the fish until tomorrow, and he couldn’t fry the chips until tomorrow because he needed them to have a fresh taste.  He still hadn’t quite worked out the kinks of his malt vinegar dip, but at least his trial run of sautéing the fish and adding the quinoa puffs to it worked out well.  He’d been so busy working he’d kept his head down the whole time and had no idea what the others were doing for their dishes.

On the ride back to the condo, everyone nominated Cas to cook for them since he’d won the challenge.  He made them mac ‘n cheese.  But it was the best fucking mac ‘n cheese Dean had ever had in his life.  He’d showed his appreciation for it out on the balcony in their corner.  Jerry had stood by, filming the whole time.  Just before the good part, Dean had groaned in frustration and dragged Castiel off the chaise.  They’d staggered inside to the bathroom and shut the damn cameras out.  Dean couldn’t be bothered with comfort and let his knees suffer on the hard tile floor.  Cas had been too far from the wall or the counter to brace himself, so he’d used a protruding towel rack.  The next morning they had to inform the production staff of the towel rack that needed to be reattached to the bathroom wall.  (timestamp available)

***

When Dean entered the kitchen to begin his hour of cooking, it already smelled delicious and Cas was humming as he worked.

“You’re awfully chipper,” Dean pointed out as he began to pull his stored components from the refrigerator.

Cas shrugged and dipped his pinky finger into a sauté pan and tasted the flavors of his cooking neck clams.  Then he added a pinch more salt.  He looked up at Dean as he was peeling the plastic wrap off his pan of fish.

“I guess I’m happy.”

That sentence could have meant anything.  He was in a good mood.  He was happy with how his dish was coming together.  But the softness in his features and the look in his eyes let Dean know he meant something else.  Dean blushed and looked away.  The realization felt good, but it was the nervous squirm in the stomach kind of good that also felt a little nauseatingly scary.  He pushed the feelings aside and concentrated on his dish.  He couldn’t let himself be distracted by Cas or his feelings for him or his lack of fear of those feelings or the fear he had that he had a lack of fear.  Dean growled at himself for that stupid thought and turned around too quickly, slamming into Cas.  His tray of fish wobbled in his hands and made a dive for the floor.  Working together they both managed to steady the pan and stop it from hitting the floor, but just barely.  Dean panted heavily as he couched on the floor, seeing the ruined fish in his mind’s eye.

“Dean, I’m sorry.  That was my fault.  I should have told you I was behind you.”

Dean shook his head.  “No, I wasn’t paying attention…”

Cas reached out and put a hand on his arm.  “Hey, Dean, calm down, okay?  It’s okay.  I promise nothing is going to happen that you don’t want to happen.”

Dean realized he wasn’t talking about his dish or the competition and whipped his head up to meet his eyes.  He was offering him an out because he thought Dean wanted one.  Dean knew he should say something to reassure Cas, to let him know that he was just a head case with trust and commitment issues.  But, if that’s all he was, why would he force that on Cas?  He nodded his head.   Cas nodded back and made sure Dean had a firm grip on the pan of fish before he stood up and continued to the refrigerator.

For the next twenty minutes it wasn’t exactly an awkward silence as they worked, but it was strained.  They only spoke to inform the other of their whereabouts or to ask for the occasional taste test.  When Jody came in the tension eased a bit as they were able to interact with her and her friendly chatter distracted them.

When the timer went off signaling the end of Cas’ time, he had ten beautiful dishes that Dean knew tasted excellent.  Cas was setting the bar high for all of them.  The waiters came in and retrieved his dishes, and Cas started to follow them out.  Dean stopped him with a hand placed intentionally intimately at his hip and dipped his head down to kiss him softly, briefly.

“Good luck,” he said.

Cas smiled and cupped the side of his face as he gave him a sweet smooch in return.  “Thanks, babe.”

Dean returned to work and Cas never came back as he’d been sent into another room to wait for the others to finish service.  Dean was happy with his final product, even if it was a far cry from the complexity he’d seen in his competitors' dishes, but his “sabayon” had turned out fuckin’ awesome.  Even better his voice barely shook as he explained the dish to the ten pairs of eyes staring at him in the fancy dining room inside Pamela’s lavish home.  Though he supposed it was modest compared to Bela’s.  Best of all, he got about twenty minutes of no judges, no competitors, and no cameras to just sit on a couch and neck with his boyfriend.

***

The five contestants queued up in a single line in the judging room.  There was nervous energy thrumming through all of them.  No one had had a bad dish.  Dean had sampled them all and he knew he wasn't going to win this one, though he was willing to admit even to himself that he was not out of the race.

The judges were sitting at the table looking extremely neutral.  Dean wondered if that meant they were pleased or disappointed.  Their dishes were way too good for the judges to have any complaints about them.  How dare they criticize any of them?  What was their problem anyway?  Who made them judges of this stupid show?!

Dean took in a deep breath and calmed himself down as he remembered the judges hadn't actually said anything yet.  Once the cameras were in place and the director was ready, they began.

"Cheftestants," Bela said, "from all of us, thank you for an exquisite meal.  You have made our jobs very difficult tonight."

They all squirmed.  That was bad news.  They would probably have no clue who was going home until it was announced and it really could be any one of them.  Dean inhaled deeply through his nose trying to settle his stomach.  This feeling sucked.  He was totally going to kill Sam for signing him up for this.

"Let's start with the first course.  Castiel?"

Cas stepped forward and clasped his hands behind his back.  Since they had already explained their dishes at service, they basically just had to sit back and listen to what the judges had to say.

"Castiel," Naomi started, "you made your interpretation of clam chowder for us."

"It was extremely clever.  Making gnocchi for the potato component and downsizing to neck clams was a stroke of brilliance."

"I especially liked that you seasoned the gnocchi with chives and didn't just leave them as plain potato," Crowley said.

"And the cream sauce," Gabriel said.  " _Yum_."

"My only complaint," Pamela said, "is that the presentation was a little lacking.  In the end, it was just a bowl of pasta and clams."

The other judges nodded, except Naomi who said, "I think the flavors and ingenuity more than made up for it though."

"Thank you, Castiel," Bela said.  "Dean, will you please step forward?"

Dean and Cas met eyes as they passed, but they were both too nervous to try to flirt or even give a reassuring smile.

"Now you made fish and chips for us," Bela said.

"A bold move," the British judge said.  "Fish and chips is pretty sacred where I come from, and I've got to say, I wasn't too excited about the American potato chips we were served.  You need a good bit of starchy potato to go with the fish."

"I would normally agree with you, Fergus," Gabriel said, "but in this case it wasn't really necessary since the fish wasn't fried.  By sautéing the fish he kept it light and not so oily.  And I loved the crunch of quinoa."

"Me too," Pamela said.  "It was a very clever way to imitate the fried aspect."

"I actually enjoyed having the crisp chips on the plate," Naomi said, "and I was surprised by how much I liked that malt vinegar sabayon.  When you first described it, Dean, I had my doubts."

Dean rolled his lips in to keep from saying anything.  He had definitely seen the skeptical sneer on her face when he'd described the sabayon.

"It was cleverly done," Pamela said, "and the presentation was nice, but a touch on the sloppy side."

Dean deflated just a little.  He'd tried so hard with his plating.  He just wasn't cut out for trying to make food look fancy.   Every challenge where he'd concentrated on the aesthetics of the dish had come back to haunt him in some way.

"Thank you, Dean.  Jody?" Bela rolled right on down the list.  "We got chicken pot pie from you."

"I am not a big fan of pot pie," Gabriel started out by saying.  "Never have been.  I think it's the crust part that always just doesn't taste right.  But you, Jody, have converted me."

Jody let out the breath she had been holding.

"Using puff pastry instead of pie crust was brilliant," Gabriel said.

"And the filling was mouthwatering," Crowley said.  "Rich, creamy, well seasoned, and the vegetables were all perfectly cooked.  Not too mushy.  Well done."

"I also liked the presentation," Pamela said.  "It was fun and most importantly appetizing."

"I agree with my fellow judges," Naomi said.  "However, I feel that this wasn't so much deconstructed pot pie as it was inside out pot pie."

"Thank you, Jody."  Bela looked at the row of contestants.  "Benny, we'd like to talk about your pasta carbonara, which was actually my personal favorite of the night."

"This is what a deconstructed dish is," Pamela said.  "All the parts are there and recognizable as their individual components, and it looks deliciously amazing to boot."

"And on top of all that," Gabriel chimed in.  "It **tasted** deliciously amazing too."

Crowley nodded.  "I have no complaints about the dish except maybe the egg needed just a tad longer in the pan.  Just a hair.  I only mention it because we really have to nitpick here tonight."

"I greatly enjoyed the dish too," Naomi said.  "And I was really happy to see your classical training come out.  Your Louisiana influence has given us some great dishes this season, but I love seeing that you have the ability to step out of your comfort zone and absolutely nail it."

"Thank you, chère," Benny said with a mischievous smirk.  Dean could see the slightly confused look on Naomi's face as she tried to figure out if she'd misheard Benny and he had actually called her chef.

"Thank you, Benny.  And last, but certainly not least, Zachariah," Bela called him forward.  "You have forever changed how I think about quiche."

"I was blown away," Gabriel said.  "Hands down the most creatively deconstructed dish of the night."

"And the most exquisitely plated," Pamela said.

"Best part?" Crowley said, "it tasted nothing like a typical quiche, but the egg flavor definitely let us know we were eating quiche.  It was bizarre.  But also wonderful."

"I only wish there was more of it," Naomi said.  "It was delicious, but it was a very small portion."

"I figured since I was going last that a smaller portion might be desirable," Zachariah said.

"Thank you," Bela said and Zachariah returned to his place in line.

Bela stood up from the judges' table and walked around front with her canister of spatulas.  So, they had already discussed the dishes and made their decision.  Why couldn't they have just started with the results?  Did they really need to drag it out this much?  Dean shifted on his feet.  God, he just wanted this to be over.

"Chefs, in this canister I have the four names of the chefs still in the running to becoming America's Next Top Chef.  Tonight's winner is someone who really understood how to deconstruct a classic dish and remake it so that it was familiar and new all over again, as well as making some truly lovely art on our plates.  Congratulations, Zachariah."

Dean just barely kept his curse in.  Yeah, of course Zachariah deserved the win, but who was going home?  Cas, Benny?  Unacceptable.  Jody?  She was such a comfort to him with her no nonsense attitude and motherly vibe.  So that left...Dean gulped.  Himself.

Dean pulled himself out of his black thoughts in time to hear that Zachariah had won a showing table at the Food and Wine Classic in Aspen, which included a three night stay at a lodge.  That event was invitation only and a great way to get an unknown chef's food noticed by a lot of important and influential people in the international culinary world.  Dean felt a little miffed that neither of his wins had gotten him that prize.

Once Zachariah was over to the right of the judges, Bela continued.

"Runner up is a very close second.  The thought that went into this dish really paid off with delicious flavor and intriguing plating.  Benny."

Dean felt a confused mixture of happiness and anxiousness wash through him.  He was glad Benny did well, but he needed Cas to be safe.

"Next is a chef who was extremely innovative and delivered an absolutely delectable dish to us, but lacked just a little in presentation.  Castiel."

Dean exhaled slowly, but his anxiety was only rising.  He had a fifty-fifty shot of leaving the competition tonight.  He had a fifty-fifty shot of losing Cas.  He'd actually been good after Charlie's departure and obeyed the rules to not visit her at the other condo.  He wouldn't do that if he was separated from Cas.  He didn't think Cas would mind breaking the rules either, even with such high stake consequences.

"Dean and Jody, please step forward.  You both made delicious dishes tonight.  Dean, we were very impressed with your creativity, but your exchanging of 'chips' for chips was a bit too much of a break from the classic and your plating skills could use refinement.  Jody, your creamy pot pie filling and perfectly cooked puff pastry were really a highlight of the night, but as Naomi said it wasn't so much deconstructed as it was inside out.  So, who stays and who goes?"

Dean closed his eyes.  He knew he was out.  He had more flaws with his dish and clearly Crowley hadn't been thrilled with his interpretation of a British favorite.

"While they were both excellent dishes, in the end it came down to what the challenge was all about, which was deconstruction.  So, the chef staying with us tonight...is Dean."

Dean opened his eyes, shocked.  But there was his name on that stupid spatula.  He let out a relieved sigh that was just this side of a hysterical laugh.  Then he turned to Jody.  She was fighting back tears and he didn't know what to do.  He awkwardly patted her on the back, and then collected his spatula.  As he approached the extremely small group of safe chefs, he saw Cas looking him with an odd expression.  He tilted his head as he tried to decipher it.  Then Cas seemed to shake himself and smiled at him.  Dean could still see the dark, possessive glint in his eyes though.

"I'm sorry, that means you're out, Jody.  Please return to the kitchen and pack your knives."

Jody thanked the judges and then walked over to the other contestants.  Dean hugged her tightly and then looked up at the ceiling—man those lights were making his eyes water.  She said her goodbyes and the others were ushered out to their post judging ceremony dinner.  The smaller the group got, the better restaurants they went to, so at least that was a plus.

 Ugh, I got so close!  I can see the judges' point.  Sort of.  But it's rough getting eliminated for a dish you're proud of and know kicks some serious ass.

 But, c'est la vie.  I'm proud of what I did here and really do feel like a winner.

***

Dean leaned heavily on Cas as the man read Jody's farewell note.  When he was done he folded it back up and set it on the counter.  The four men looked at each other.  They were all the competition they had left, and yet the pressure was ten times greater than ever.

They stayed up to share a glass of wine, Benny had tonic water with a twist, but after only one glass, Cas was tugging Dean away.  They walked down the hall to their bedroom, Jerry trailing after them.

"I hated panel tonight," Cas confessed.  "Seeing you in the bottom two...don't do it again."

Dean chuckled.  "I'll try not to.  At least not until the last round.  But you have to promise to do the same."

"That's not mathematically possible for both of us to do that," Cas said.

"Ooo, there you go with that dirty talk again."

Dean laughed but then cut off abruptly as Cas pushed him up against the doorframe, crowding him close, faces barely an inch apart.

"I'm glad you're still here," he said softly in counterpoint to his rough handling.

"Me too."

"So tonight...let's do option B."

Dean eyes' glanced over to Jerry and his damn camera.

"Well, I guess they already know where we'll both be.  Might as well get as loud as we like."

"Mm," Cas hummed, pleased.  He leaned in and kissed Dean.  Then he pulled him into the bedroom and shut the door behind them.  (timestamp available)


	10. Round 9

Cas and Dean sat at the kitchen counter on bar stools eating cereal.  They kept their eyes on their bowls and concentrated very hard on getting their Honey Puffs onto their spoons.  It required all of their attention.  They had none to spare for the two men who were leaning against the counter, sipping coffee, and glaring at them.  Perhaps they should have reconsidered their reasoning for thinking they could get as loud as they liked the previous night.

Finally Dean couldn't stand Benny's and Zachariah's silent scolding anymore.  He mumbled an excuse, dropped his bowl off in the sink, and caught a glimpse of indignant betrayal on Cas' face as he disappeared around the corner to the computer alcove.  He sat in the chair and wiggled the mouse to wake up the hibernating laptop.  He still had to reference the Skype instructions taped to the desk just to make sure he got the program working correctly.

After a couple of failed attempts to connect to Sam, he noticed his icon was red though it didn't say he was offline.  He decided to wait to see if anything changed; he didn't want to go back into that kitchen.  All Internet browsers had been removed from the laptop, so Dean opened up spider solitaire to help him pass some time.  Less than ten minutes in and Dean's attention span was all but spent.  Fortunately, Sam's icon was back to green.  He clicked it to connect.  Sam popped up a few moments later.

"Hey, Dean!  Morning.  Is it still morning there?  Ah, just barely.  You guys must have the day off today, huh?  How did the last challenge go?  Can you talk about it?  Are you still having fun?  It must be pretty far in now.  You must have gotten really far.  That's great.  So.  What's up?"

Dean stared at his little brother through the computer with a knowing look tinged with impatience.

"Okay, Sam.  What's up?"

"Up?  Nothing.  Nothing's up.  The sky is up.  You're up.  Shut up."

Dean stared at him blandly.  Sam displayed every nervous tick he possessed in the space of five seconds.  Dean sighed dramatically and shifted in his seat.  Let Sam have his little secrets while he could.

"So what were you doing?" Dean asked.

"When?"

"Just now."

"Oh, I just...uh.  I just got out of the shower."

"Your hair's not wet."

"Well, I mean, I was about to get in the shower and then I heard the Skype ring, so I got out to come answer it."

"But your icon was red.  You were already using Skype."

"That just means I'm inactive."

"Orange means you're inactive."

"Since when did you become such a tech savvy expert?"

"Sam.  What the hell is going on?"

"I—I don't think I can tell you."

Dean felt a stab of cold fear in his gut.  He leaned forward and gripped the desktop.  "Sam, you better tell me what is going on right the fuck now."

Sam looked stunned by Dean's reaction for a moment, and then he put up a placating hand and spoke quickly.

"Oh, no, Dean, no.  It's nothing like—it's not—I'm okay."

Dean sat back in his chair, the tight knot in his stomach starting to loosen with Sam' reassurance.  His brother looked at him confused, and a little hurt.

"Why—why would you assume it was anything like that?"

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it.  Sam had been sober for ten years now.  He'd never had a relapse after moving in with Bobby.  Not even after the tragedy that had happened his junior year of college.  So why had Dean assumed the worst?  Probably because he'd just spilled his and his brother's secrets to a relative stranger?  Dean really ought to tell Sam that he had told Cas about his personal business, but perhaps that was a conversation best saved for in person and without the risk of being recorded.

"I didn't mean anything by it.  Sorry.  So, why are you acting weird and can't talk about it?"

"Well.  Um, I mean I don't think I can talk about it where the," Sam thinned his lips and mostly said the word "producers" through hummed noises, "might hear."

"Why not?"

"Well, uh, is there anyone around?"

Dean glanced over his shoulder and didn't see any cameras or stray producers.  He turned back and shrugged his shoulders.

"Come on, Sam, what's up?"

"But don't you think it's possible that they monitor all these conversations on this laptop or record them on something?"

"Yeah, they probably do.  Sam, my patience is about up."

"Dean, I don't want you to get in trouble.  What if they kick you out of the competition?"

"For fuck's sake, Sam.  What.  Is.  It."

"Well, you see, the other contestants stuck around, right?"

"Yeah.  They're down the hall actually, but we're not allowed to interact with them."

"Yeah, okay, so they also have a laptop that they can Skype on."

Dean waited.  And then rolled his hand in a get a move on gesture.  "And?"

"And well.  I may have been talking with an eliminated contestant the last few days."

"Oh.  Is it Charlie?  She's the type who would find a way around the burn walls or whatever."

"Firewalls?"

" **Whatever**."

"Well, no, not Charlie.  I'm not even sure I would know what she looks like.  But someone else found the clever way around the system of looking up my Skype name."

"And that would be?"

Sam hemmed a little more and fidgeted with his fingers.  Dean rolled his eyes, completely done with his litter brother's idiocy.  He reached forward to end the call.  "Goodbye, Sam."

"Tracy!"

Dean paused.

"Tracy.  I've been talking with Tracy."

Dean raised an eyebrow.  And then a smirk slid up the side of his face.  He shook his head with a growing grin.  "Sam, you dog."

"It's not like that!"

"Oh, I'm sure.  Most relationships that begin over random meetings on the Internet are always about deep emotional and spiritual connections."

Sam huffed and shook his head slightly.  "Fuck you," he said affectionately.

Dean laughed and teased his brother a little bit more before they got into the business of small talk.  Bizarrely it made Dean feel secure, confident even to know that his brother was doing well and was happy.  It was almost like **he** was doing well and was happy if his brother was.

Sam had a couple of weeks left before he had to return to work even though the students wouldn't be back for another month after that.  He asked Dean what he thought about him making a trip to Miami so they could hang out at the beach after the competition ended.  That had been an idea that had sort of been floated around when they had found out where the competition would be taking place, but Dean suspected Sam's sudden interest in making the plan a reality stemmed from wanting to meet a certain 5'7" Latina bombshell.

"Okay, Sam, check into some flights and hotels and let me know what you decide."

"Too bad we can't stay where you are."

"Yeah, that would be nice but I have a feeling they'll be sweeping us out with the trash as soon as they're done filming."

Sam laughed.  "Probably not that far off.  Keep up the good work, alright.  It's gotta be getting close to the end and I know you can take it all the way if you just keep doing what you have been."

"Thanks for the pep talk, coach."

"Anytime, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes slightly and hung up on his dork of a brother.  He rubbed his hands on his thighs and strained his ears to hear if there was any conversation in the kitchen.  He didn't hear anything, but of course that didn't mean Zachariah and Benny weren't still silently glaring at Cas.  He stood up and peeked around the corner.  The kitchen was empty.  He tiptoed across the living room, looking left and right to see if anybody was sitting on the couch.  The coast was clear; not even a camera was in sight.  He slid the glass door of the balcony open and glanced outside.  All the chaises were empty.  Relieved, he walked down toward the hidden corner, looking back inside to see if anyone had spotted him.  He rounded the corner and started when he saw Cas lounging on a chaise wearing a tank top, shorts, and Ray-Bans.  He kind of looked like a goofball.  But a sexy one.

"Ah, there you are, Brutus.  I was waiting for you to come back for your knife.  Let me just turn over so you can pull it out."

Dean scowled.  "That's a little dramatic, don't you think?"

"You prefer Judas then?"

"No."  Dean crawled onto the chaise and settled beside Cas, forcing him to scoot over a little.  "I prefer this."  He put his lips against Cas' neck, and dragged them gently back and forth on the absurdly soft skin.  He pressed his lips into a light kiss, and then trailed them up to the bolt of Cas' jaw.  He flicked his tongue out, tasting him, and gave him another tender kiss.  Dean hummed as Cas threaded his fingers in his hair, and then did his best to turn a girly yelp into a manly grunt as Cas yanked his head back.

"What the hell, Cas?"

"You think you've earned that?" he asked.

Dean grumbled and settled down on the chaise with his head resting on Cas' shoulder.  The killjoy relaxed his fingers and started petting Dean instead of pulling unfairly at his hair like a little bitch.  Dean wrapped an arm around Cas' waist and curled his fingers in the bottom of the tank top, pulling it up so he could stroke his thumb over Cas' skin.  He really couldn't believe how every inch of his skin was so soft and callus free.  He didn't even have burn or cut scars anywhere.  How did a chef not carry the badges of his profession on his skin?  Dean himself had thin white lines across his fingertips and a patch of shiny scar tissue on the inner part of his left forearm.

"Baby," Dean murmured drowsily after several minutes of silence.

"Hmm?"

"How can you stand to be touching and not be **touching**?"

He felt Cas' chest rumble with a laugh.  "I'm worn out, Dean.  But then, I did do all the work last night."

"Not **all** of it."

"No, not all of it," he conceded.  "But, today, I want something from you."

Dean's eyes flew open in alarm.  He was now wide awake.  "What more could you possibly have?" he asked, cheeks warming with the memories.

"I want to talk."

Dean groaned and turned his face into Cas' body.  "God.  Anything but that."

"No.  It's what I want and what I've earned after being left alone to deal with the gorgons."

Dean snorted.  "Never knew gorgons could be bald."

"You'd be surprised."

Dean settled back in place with his face now more on Cas' chest.  "What do you want to talk about?" he asked testily.

"No big life altering stories.  No deep, dark secrets.  I won't even ask you about your feelings."

"Then what's left?"

"You, babe.  Whatever makes you 'you.'"

"Like what?"

"Oh, what's your favorite type of fruit?  Where is the best place you've ever been?  Beer or wine?  Beer or liquor?  What's your favorite color?  Original _Star Trek_ or Next Generation?"

Dean raised his head.  "You like _Star Trek_?"

Cas shrugged a noncommittal shoulder.  "It's alright."

"You know what?  I'll take that.  More than I've ever gotten from anyone else I've ever dated."  He settled his head back on Cas.  "Um.  I like bananas.  Definitely beer over wine, but liquor over beer.  Original _Star Trek_ all the way.  Uh, what else was there?"

"Favorite place.  Favorite color."

"I don't have a favorite color."

"How can you not have a favorite color?"

"Just don't.  Favorite place?  Inside my baby."

Cas stiffened, and then relaxed.  "Oh, yes.  The car."

"Yes, the car.  In case you're curious who is the love of my life—"

"Baby?"

"That's right, baby."

Dean froze as he realized the unintentional implication of calling Cas "baby" just then.  Or **had** it been unintentional?  Perhaps just unconscious.  Maybe Cas didn't realize he'd been calling him baby, but just thought he was reiterating the car as his answer.  Dean cleared his throat.  “So, what about you?  Fruit, beer, places…”

“Hm, well, I like kiwi.”

“Kiwi?” Dean said with more disdain in his voice than he meant.

“Oh don’t even start with me, banana boy.”

“Hey.  The banana is a staple.  It’s like, Shakespeare or something.”

Cas laughed.  “I have never heard Shakespeare compared to a banana before.”

“No?  The guy sure did talk about penises a lot.”

“That he did.”

“I mean, I don’t have anything against kiwi per se, but your **favorite** fruit?  It’s such a pain to get the skin off, and then it’s slippery.  You can’t just bite into it.  You have to cut it up.  It’s kind of a prissy fruit.”

“Have you not noticed that **I’m** kind of prissy?”

“Not really, no.  I mean you get testy when things don’t go your way—“

“—wha?  You rat bast—“

Dean fended off a weak attack to his shoulder.  “But you’re not delicate or afraid to get your hands dirty.  I mean, you certainly aren’t prissy in bed.”

“Hnn.”

Dean could actually feel Cas sulking under him, so he gave him a full body nudge.  “Go on, then.  This is your game.”

Cas tsked, but said, “I prefer wine over beer and liquor over beer.  I prefer hard cider over beer while we’re at it.  Not really big on beer.”

“Okay, found your first flaw.”

“Only my first?  Well, I’ve got you snowed, haven’t I?”

“Well, there was that whole kiwi thing.”

“Get over it, Dean.”

“Okay, what’s your favorite place in the world?”

“Honestly, I don’t know if I’ve been there yet.”

“What a copout answer.”

Cas chuckled.  “You don’t like that one you’re going to hate my favorite color.  It’s white.”

“White?” Dean repeatedly indignantly.

“Mm-hmm.  Because it’s all colors.”

“You are intentionally trying to see how much bullshit I will take from you, aren’t you?”

“Take me as I am or watch me as I go.”

“Yeah?  Where you gonna go, Cas?”

“No where you won’t follow,” he murmured.

Dean buried his face in his Cas’ neck, trying to hide his blush.  “Anymore cheesy clichés for me?”

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

“Please don’t.”

“Mm.  You’re more like autumn anyway.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“It’s both.”

Dean sat up and looked down at Cas.  He was looking back at him with a serious expression.  At least Cas had no delusions about Dean.  And yet, here Cas was—with him, staying with him, wanting Dean to be with him.  Is this what people talked about when they said they had someone they could “be themselves” with?  Was it not just a feeling of being comfortable, but knowing that they could show the worst of side of themselves and not be worried they would be left?  It was conflictingly a horrifying and wonderful feeling.

Dean lowered his head and kissed Cas.  He pulled back again and looked at him with his oddly handsome face and extraordinarily blue eyes.  His lips parted, but he didn’t know what he meant to say.  Cas raised a hand and traced his index finger down the straight line of Dean’s nose.  Then he dropped his hand.

“What’s your favorite animal?”

Dean rolled his eyes and turned so that he could sort of lie on his back next to Cas on the too small chaise.

“I don’t have a favorite animal.”

“Favorite type of cloud?”

“I’m about to throw you off this balcony.”

“Favorite plant?”

“Weed,” Dean replied, just to get a reaction.

“Like weed the garden weeds, or marijuana?”

“What do you think?”

“Do you use often?”

Dean huffed softly.  “No.  Never really.  I smoked a little in high school, but when I joined the Marines I didn’t want to run the risk of getting caught so I stopped.  And then after the whole thing with Sam, I just figured solidarity might help him, you know?”

“Hmm.  What’s it like?”

“You’ve never tried it?” Dean asked incredulously.

Cas shrugged.  “I didn’t know where to get it in high school.  Or college.  I still don’t know where one might get it today.”

“Oh my God I’m dating a nerd.”

“Says the _Star Trek_ buff,” Cas said huffily.

“Different kind of nerd, buddy.”

“Oh, so, what, driving a cool car and smoking weed and getting laid put you in the cool kids category in high school?”

“Well, yeah.  The mysterious, brooding bad boy is always one of the cool kids.”

Cas shifted onto his side so he could look down at Dean.  “Would you have still dated me in high school?”

“The goody-two shoes virgin who wouldn’t smoke weed or let anyone copy his home work?  No way.  Though I probably would have made out with you in secret under the bleachers.”

“I want to be angry with that answer, but that sounds really hot.”

Dean laughed and turned to Cas.  “So hot, baby.  You wouldn’t have stayed a virgin in high school if you’d known me.”  Dean kissed him.

“I bet I would have,” Cas murmured against his lips.  “I would have made you a good boy.”  He slipped his tongue into Dean’s mouth.

“Mm, no chance,” Dean panted.  “I—I would have—mm.  Cas…”

“That’s right,” Cas said softly, sweetly, running his hand up and down Dean’s side.  He kissed him deeply and then pulled back.  “That’s my good boy.”

***

Dean inhaled deeply to keep from turning around and punching the PA named Davis.  Every time he attached the battery pack for Dean’s mic, his hands went way too far down the back of his pants.  But he let it go because he was in a good mood.  It had been awesome to have the entire previous day off just to recuperate from the grueling schedule they had been on the last several days.  Now he was ready to find out what the next challenge was and to get started.  He was starting to like that squirmy worm-bodied butterflies in the stomach feeling he got.  Well, kind of.

The four remaining contestants were led onto the kitchen set and Bela was scowling as a hairstylist kept plucking at her hair.  As the director announced he was ready to get rolling, she just pushed the girl out of her space and shook her head gently.  Every hair fell into place.  He should introduce her to Sam so they could trade hair secrets.

“Action!” the director yelled.

“Good morning, everyone!” Bela said, full of cheer.  “We’re so close now, can you taste it?”

Dean rolled his tongue around in his mouth.  He understood the concept of a metaphor, but there **was** an odd tang in his mouth.  Oh, yes.  He’d sucked Cas off this morning after brushing his teeth.  He had to remember to reverse those two things in the future.

“Chefs, please welcome our guest judge for this week, a food and wine connoisseur and the youngest winner of Food and Wine’s Sommelier of the Year Award ever.  He’s well known for hosting a variety of different Food Network shows, please welcome Jake Talley."

Dean perked up at the name.  He knew who that was.  The man strolled through the set doors and Dean was surprised by how young he looked in person.  He looked to be Sam’s age or younger.  He’d hosted a “how it’s made” type show for food, and Dean was a sucker for those kinds of shows.

“Well, cheftestants,” Bela said, “we have a fun challenge for your Warm Up Challenge today.  How many of you are familiar with our sister show, _Cleaved_?”

Dean’s hand shot up.  He loved that show!  It was his favorite show that Jake hosted.  He glanced around and noticed no one else was raising their hands.  He put his back down slowly.  Bela laughed.

“Excellent.  I’m glad to see you’re such a fan, Dean,” Bela said.

“We’ll see if he’s still a fan after he gets to experience it for himself,” Jake said.

The doors at the other end of the kitchen opened and four PAs carried out four familiar-looking, lidded grey baskets.  They set one down at each chef’s station.  Dean felt his insides jumping with excitement and trepidation.

“For those of you unfamiliar with the show, I’ll let Jake explain.”

“Chefs, in these baskets you’ll find four mystery ingredients.  You’re going to have half an hour to prepare an entrée.  You must use all four ingredients in some way.  When time is up we’ll be judging you based on presentation, taste, and don’t forget creativity.  We really like to see the mystery ingredients repurposed or incorporated into the dish.  Using one as a garnish isn’t going to get you many points.”

Dean started bouncing on the balls of his feet.  He’d actually looked up the application process for being a contestant on _Cleaved_ , but then determined he couldn’t afford the trip to New York City or to take that much time off work.  And now look at him.  He hoped Ellen was doing alright without him.

“Okay, chefs, open your baskets.”

Dean pulled open the lid with initial excitement, and with each ingredient reveal felt his stomach drop down into a nauseated pit.

“The ingredients you’ll have to use are rose water syrup.”

 Rose water is a great ingredient to work with.  You can infuse all sorts of food with a unique, fresh taste.  Rose water **syrup**?  It’s like grenadine—sticky and super sweet.  Uck.

“Durian fruit.”

 Okay, I’m a snob, I’ll admit it.  I like pretentious, gourmet ingredients.  But durian fruit—it smells like feet and tastes like ass.

“Fiddlehead greens.”

 Well, this is by far the easiest ingredient in the basket, but they are so bitter you’ve got to blanch them twice.  It’s a good thing they’re giving us so much time with this challenge.

“And…goat brains.”

The was a brief break while the baskets were cleared off the station and the set pulled back to reveal the pantry.  Dean’s brain was whirring as he leaned on his hands on his station.  He’d never worked with fiddleheads before, but they looked similar to okra in texture.  He’d have to give them a taste right off the bat.  He’d never used rose water syrup either, but he figured he already idea of what that would be like.  Durian fruit was a total mystery to him.  The brains were a bit of a kick in the head, but he actually had an idea of what he could do with them.  He just wasn’t sure how all this crap was supposed to go together.  He sniffed the air.  Then he sniffed it again.

“Do you guys smell something?” Dean asked.

“What do you mean?” Cas asked, but there was a too innocent lilt to his voice.

Dean sniffed again, and then bent down over his station.  His nose led him to the durian fruit.  He straightened.

“Oh, crap.  I think mine’s gone bad.  I wonder if they’ll let me swap it out?”

Cas, Benny, and even Zachariah started sniggering.  Dean realized he was missing something important.

Once everything was in place, Bela gave Jake the honor of starting them off.

“Chefs, I look forward to your creations.  Your time starts now.”

The other three took off for the pantry, but Dean grabbed up a fiddlehead and gave it taste.  He made a small keening noise in the back of his throat and spit it out in a trashcan.  They were unbelievably bitter.  They needed to be blanched.  He grabbed the fiddleheads and the brains and made for his stovetop.  He scooped out some boiling water into a separate pot before dumping the fiddleheads in and then put the brains in the other pot with some salt and turmeric.

When he had been in Afghanistan, they’d had a Pashto speaker with them whose family was originally from Pakistan.  During one of the Muslim holidays they’d been near one of the larger cities and given some downtime.  Zayn had decided to get some ingredients from the local market and prepare a traditional meal for those brave enough to try it without being informed of its contents first.  Dean had loved it and not been particularly thrilled when he’d found out the dish was brain marsala.  He was glad he asked Zayn about how it was made though.  It was fairly simple and he certainly was using it now.

While everything was boiling he decided to head back to his station and crack open his durian fruit and see what it was all about.  He used a large, heavy knife to give it a good thwack.  As soon as he peeled back part of the husk, his nostrils and mouth were invaded with one of the most vile odors he’d ever encountered in his life.  He had to turn away for a moment and repress a gag.

“Oh, my God.  I think this is like a rotten dragon egg or something.”

“No, my dear,” Cas said as he cracked into his own fruit and made the kitchen smell even worse, “this is durian fruit."  He cut out a piece of the flesh and ate it with a wink.

Dean made a face and looked at the monstrosity in front of him.  He cut out a very teeny sliver to taste it.  It was pretty nasty.  A mixture of rotten and sharp and unpleasant.  But also, kind of onion-y.  Well, he’d just swap out the onions in his marsala dish with durian.  Done.

He went back to check on his boiling components with the rose syrup in hand.  The brains were firm, so he pulled them out to cool a bit as he began to heat up the rose syrup so it would caramelize.  Heaven help him but he was going to make a “gastrique.”  Just give him one of those silly tall white chef’s hats now.

He cut apart the brain and then cleaned out the veins as he kept an eye on the fiddleheads and his syrup.  Taking a huge risk he left everything at the stove and ran back to his station to harvest the durian fruit: cursing and complaining the entire time.  When he dashed back to his station, he was in time to deglaze the rose caramel with white wine vinegar and scooped out the fiddleheads and set them aside.  In a pot he quickly threw in the brain, the chopped durian, salt, chili powder, more turmeric, ginger paste, garlic paste and yogurt.  He covered it and let it do its thing.

He tasted the fiddleheads again.  They were still pretty bitter, but hopefully the sweet-sour gastrique would cover some of that.  Gastriques were meant to be served with proteins, but he couldn’t be bothered with that.  He found some lychee fruit in the pantry and used those as the fruit component in his gastrique.  Everything was going fine until he realized that he couldn’t find any naan in the pantry.  He certainly didn’t have any time to make any.  Scowling, he grabbed up some pitas, slathered them with butter and threw them on the grill top.  It would make a poor substitution, but the marsala had to be served with something.

Jake called out the two minute warning.  Dean made a dash for the plates and then served up a couple scoops of the marsala topped with fresh coriander leaves.  He put the grilled pita next to it as a kind of barricade for the fiddleheads he’d sautéed in the gastrique.  He didn’t have time to strain it, so he was just going to have to hope the liquid already on the greens would do.

Jake began counting down from ten and Dean used a cloth to wipe up stray spots on his dish.  For once what he made looked good without compromising flavor.  Well, his damn lobster taco had looked and tasted good too, but apparently he’d been too liberal with the interpretation of the taco part.  Bela called time and Dean glanced over at Cas’ plate.

“What ‘cha got there, buddy?”

“It’s a brain fritter.”

“Brain fritter, huh.  Is that a fancy way of saying you fried the crap out of it?”

“Yup.”

Bela and Jake began to make their way down the line.

“Ooo!  Sometimes there are downsides to this job,” Bela said as she bit into one of Benny’s fried brain balls.  “Though this is pretty good.”

Apparently Dean was the only one who didn’t fry his brains, though Zachariah claimed his was “crumbed” and baked.

When Jake and Bela tasted his marsala, they both lit up and praised it.  Then they took a bite of the fiddleheads.  The joy fled from their faces.  Dean realized in that moment he’d never tasted the sauce.  Not once.  After they turned their backs he stuck his finger in it and brought it to his mouth.  It wasn’t that bad—Dean’s body spasmed.  Good God, that was awful.

“Well, Jake, how did the chefs do?”

“Very well!  I’m very impressed.  None of these ingredients are easy to work with and you all managed to be quite successful.  There were a couple hiccups here and there, but nothing major.

“Benny, I’m amazed by what I ate.  Combining the brains, chopped fiddleheads, and durian fruit into one mixture and then frying it was pretty ingenious.  Each flavor was there, but the strong flavor from the brains and the durian fruit were tempered by the mixture and the fiddleheads added crunch and a punch of flavor without being overwhelming.  The rose reduction dipping sauce was just the perfect touch.”

 I think I just found a new addition to my menu back home.

“Zachariah, I appreciate the lighter touch you took with the outside coating of the brains.”

“And the rose syrup and fiddlehead puree was surprisingly tasty.  But, I can’t taste the durian fruit at all.”

 That was the point.

“Castiel, your fritters are good.”

“The durian made good flavoring on the fiddleheads.  I didn’t get much of the rose syrup flavor in the batter you used for the fritters.  All in all, it was good.  Just, not very creative.”

 I’m sorry, should I have made a semifreddo?

“Dean, you were by far the most creative with the brains and you used the durian fruit well.  I love that marsala and would definitely eat it again.”

“The fiddleheads on the other hand, they could have used a second blanching to get a little more bitterness out of them, and the gastrique was…bracing.”

Dean laughed.  “I’m actually going to thank you for that compliment.”

Jake laughed too.  “Well, it wasn’t _bad_.  Exactly…”

 It was *beep*

“So, it’s time to find out who our winner is,” Bela said.  “And this week the winner gets a special advantage in the Elimination Challenge.”

“The winner for me,” Jake said, “is the chef who was inventive and made a truly delicious dish.  And that chef is…Benny.”

Dean was happy for his friend and didn’t begrudge him the win at all.  Perhaps he might have been a tad less gracious if there had been a prize attached to the win, but since there wasn’t he could sit pretty thinking of himself as a mature person.

“Now for the Elimination Challenge,” Bela said and a PA entered the kitchen with a cloth covered cart.  “You all did very well with taking rare, hard to work with ingredients and being inventive with them and creating some new and interesting combinations of flavors.  Now we want you to do the same with more familiar flavors.”

The PA whipped off the cloth to reveal four homely looking dishes labeled Tuna Casserole, Chicken and Dumplings, Meatloaf, and Spaghetti.

“Your challenge, chefs, is to take one of these old standby recipes and reinvent them and elevate them to haute cuisine.  We also want a complementary side.  Now, Benny, your advantage is that you get to pick which of the four dishes you’d like to update.  And then you get to assign the other dishes to the rest of the chefs.  And!  You get to select what they have to make for a side, and it doesn’t matter if they really go all that well together.”

Bela and Jake chuckled darkly and Benny turned to look at his sweating competitors.

“You believe in karma, don’t you, Benny?” Cas asked with a nervous smile.

“I do, Cas, I do.  And I have a feeling your late night activities are about to come back and bite you in the ass.”

“Damn.”

“Not that Dean hasn’t done that enough already,” Zachariah commented blithely.

Dean and Cas flushed red up to their ears and Bela and Jake looked at them with amused surprise.  The director called cut and the production staff all started laughing out loud.  Dean bent over his station and buried his face in his arms.  It took a few minutes for the laughter to die down, and then they were rolling again.  Dean shot Zachariah a nasty look, but the man couldn’t be perturbed by so empty a threat.

Benny walked over to the cart and selected chicken and dumplings for himself.  He informed everyone he would be serving it with collard greens.  Then he gave Dean spaghetti and garlic bread, which Dean was certain would be harder to change and update since they were so simple.  Cas got the meatloaf and Benny asked him to prepare a pâté as well.  Cas looked liable to explode after that announcement.  Zachariah was given the tuna casserole and coleslaw.  Dean winced.  That was an awful combination.  And nobody really liked coleslaw, did they?  It was the first thing he took off the Roadhouse’s original menu when he saw how many untouched cups of slaw returned to the kitchen to be dumped in the trash.

“Okay, chefs, you know the drill.  You have fifteen minutes to plan, twenty minutes to shop and a seventy-five dollar budget.  You’ll be serving ten portions to me and to five very special guest judges whom you’ll meet at dinner service.  You’ll have two hours to prep tonight and one hour to finish in my kitchen tomorrow as that’s where we’ll be having dinner.  You’ll be serving in twenty minute intervals again.  Benny, you may choose the order of service.”

Benny selected Zachariah to go first, then Cas, then Dean, and then himself last.  Dean noticed that prevented Benny and Zachariah from being in the kitchen at the same time.

“Alright, start planning and we’ll see you tomorrow evening!”

When they got into the van to head for Super Foods, Dean beat Zachariah to the passenger seat.  No way was he sitting trapped in the back with Benny and Cas.

“Really, Benny, pâté?” Cas asked scathingly as he slammed the van door shut behind him awkwardly as he fought against the automated mechanism.

“Sorry.  It was the first thing I thought of.”

“The first thing.  The **first** thing?  How is that even a side at all let alone for frickin’ meatloaf?  I mean I get it, you’re trying to win this thing so it makes sense to take me out with pâté and Zachariah with tuna casserole.  You should feel insulted Dean!” Cas called out.  “He wasn’t being nice to you; he just thinks you aren’t competition.”

Dean rolled his eyes and didn’t even bother to turn around.

“I didn’t have a choice with the casserole.  Someone was going to get it.”

“’Someone,’” Zachariah scoffed softly.

“And if you’re such a great chef, pâté shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

“It’s not!  I make an amazing chicken liver pâté.  I’ll probably win just for that alone!”

“Then why are you allowing your panties to bunch up your crack?”

“I’m not!  I’m fine.  I’m happy.  You just handed me the keys to the competition, my friend.”

“Whatever you say, chèr.”

Cas whipped around to glare at Benny.  “I am not.  Your chèr.”

Benny smiled placidly at him.

When they arrived at the grocery store, Dean nudged Cas gently with his shoulder.  He turned wild eyes on him.

“You just wait.  You will never have had pâté like this before in all your life!”

Cas marched off into the store and Dean turned a look on Benny.  Benny just smiled.

“You want to stay in my room tonight, brother?”

***

Part of Dean wished he **had** spent the night in Benny’s room.  Even after shopping and the two hours of work they did in the kitchen, Cas was still angry.  Dean wasn’t quite sure why he was taking it so personally, though he supposed when pâté was compared to coleslaw or garlic bread, it did seem like Benny had intentionally given Cas a difficult and potentially unappetizing dish to serve.  Dean knew he didn’t want to try it.

Seeking revenge, Cas has pushed one of the twin beds up against the wall they shared with Benny’s room and proceeded to do everything in his power to get Dean to scream and cry and beg for him all night long.  Dean had managed to thwart his plans, but barely and not always completely.  His biceps were covered in his own teeth marks where he’d attempted to keep himself quiet.  And it had been **all** damn night.  A rather stupid move as they had to compete the following day even though they didn’t have to be ready to leave for Bela’s house until 5:00pm.  They were still both exhausted and sore.  But if he had the chance to go back and tell Cas no and sleep peacefully and soundly in Benny’s bedroom—no way in hell would he do it.

It felt so good to relinquish control to Cas.  To hand him the reins and leave him to know how far to take it and when to pull back.  He liked someone else taking responsibility for him, however narrow the construct and short the duration.  He loved the terrifying feeling of just letting go.  Even bound to the bed and having his release—both of them—dictated by someone else, he’d never felt more free.

“Hey.”

Dean startled out of his thoughts as Benny nudged him to get out of the van.  They were back on Star Island and Bela’s house was gleaming and grand in the late summer afternoon light—the sun still over two hours away from setting.  He didn’t have time to get lost in his day dreams.  This was serious competition tonight.  There was a twenty-five percent chance he was going home.  A fifty percent chance he was being split up from Cas.  He had to cook his ass of tonight and he knew his dish was amazing.  It was more than just an update to spaghetti, it was a reimagining.  It was Indian and Italian with a little Chinese thrown in.  He was trying to think of some clever name involving Marco Polo.

When Dean came into the kitchen to begin his final hour, Cas was actually helping Zachariah.  He’d completed his pâté yesterday as it needed at least six hours to chill before serving.  The meatloaf he’d prepped entirely and it was now baking away in the oven, leaving the man with quite a bit of time on his hands.  Zachariah thanked him when Dean showed up and Cas immediately joined Dean and asked if he could help.  Dean put him to work.  During Cas’ last twenty minutes he returned to his own dishes and Dean was on own, but he felt in control.  Having an extra pair of hands for twenty minutes had helped him beyond belief.  He had time to prep everything for his plating ahead of time and knew he wouldn’t be rushed to finish.

Cas finished plating early and Dean tasted his meatloaf—it was stupidly good.  Cas tried to eat more than one bite of his “spaghetti” and Dean had to chase him off more than once.  Then Cas finagled Dean into trying his chicken liver pâté with whispered dirty promises in his ear.  Dean made a face as he held the spoon up; sure it look pretty, but livers?  He just focused on the phrase “anything you want” that was tumbling around his head and sending heat to his groin and just stuck it in his mouth.

“Holy crap,” Dean said.

“What?”Cas asked.

“It’s good.”

“I know,” he said, rather obnoxiously.  But that was okay because Dean could do anything he wanted to him tonight and that was so worth it.

“Hey guys,” Zachariah popped his head in the kitchen right before Cas was about to head out.  “Guess who the guest judges are?  It’s the judges’ mothers and aunties!”

“Really?” Dean said.  “That’s cool.”

“No, it’s not, you simpleton.  They are old-fashioned ladies.  Set in their cooking ways.  They’re not really into modernist cuisine.”

Everyone had a mini panic attack as they thought about their dishes.  Dean looked at the udon noodles he currently had cooling in an ice bath.  He looked back at Cas.

“Well, it tastes good, right?”

Cas swallowed and nodded.  “It does.  It tastes amazing.”  His face fell a little.  “But it’s not spaghetti.”

“Fuck.”

The timer went off and servers came in to carry Cas’ plates out.  Cas’ shoulders slumped as he followed them to the dining room.

“I think we’re all screwed on this one, babe.”

Three hours later found them back on set in the holding room and all coping with the stress of waiting differently, though all poorly.  Dean was pacing and lightly kicking the walls every time he reached the end of the room.  Benny had picked a hangnail bloody.  Zachariah was talking and complaining and trying to reason with the air; his voice was grating on everyone’s nerves.  Cas was rocking in his chair, the clack of the front feet hitting the concrete floor over and over was about to drive them all mad.  They all started violently when the door to the room opened.  Bela smiled at them.

“We’d like to see you all now.”

They all glanced at each other like prisoners who were going to the review board to find out if they’d been granted a stay of execution.  They clapped each other on the back and walked stoically into the judges’ room.  Jake, Crowley, Bela, Gabriel, and Naomi all sat before them with their fingers lace together and hands on the table.  They looked ready to pass some judgment.

“Chefs,” Bela started.  “You challenge this week was to take an old standby recipe and update and elevate it.  We had some very tough judges for you tonight, and they were all thrilled to meet you and try your dishes.”

“And we were honored to meet them,” Zachariah said.

Dean sucked his cheek in and bit it.  Kiss ass.

“Well, then why don’t we get started, Zachariah.  You served us first.”

Zachariah stepped forward, his fingers twitching at his sides the only sign that he was nervous.

“Yes, I prepared for you an updated tuna casserole.  I made cannelloni from scratch with a filling of pea and carrot ricotta puree and lightly seared Ahi tuna.  For a side I made radish and broccoli coleslaw.”

  

“I thought it was very creative,” Jake said.

“Though unrecognizable as the dish that inspired it,” Naomi said.

“I think the tuna was cooked and seasoned perfectly,” Gabriel said.  “And the filling in the cannelloni was a complete shock.  But in a good way.  When you described it, it sounded kind of like baby food, but the flavor and the texture was definitely not.”

"It was good," Crowley said a little unconvincingly, "but again you're trying to starve us.  You don't put much on your plates."

Dean saw Zachariah's fingers curl up into his palms, but he didn't say anything.  Bela thanked him and called up Cas.

"Castiel," Bela said his name like she was caressing it.

Dean frowned.  She'd been eyeing his man in a way he didn't like since Zachariah's comment yesterday.  If only she knew it wasn't Cas who was on the receiving end of all the biting.

"You updated meatloaf for us."

"Yes.  My mother used to make meatloaf for us, and the next day we would eat the leftovers on sandwiches.  I was considering something like until I thought, why not make a sandwich the meatloaf.  And I decided to go with a Reuben because that is my favorite sandwich."

Dean made an unimpressed face.  Well, he'd just found Cas' second flaw: who's favorite sandwich was a Reuben?

Gabriel, Jake, and Crowley all tried to speak at the same time.  Most of it got lost in the garble, but it was clear they were praising the dish.  Naomi waited for them all to stop gushing.

"It was a clever idea and it was very good.  A definite twist on an old favorite, while still leaving the dish itself recognizable.  The sauerkraut did cause it to become a little soggy though."

The other judges shushed her like she'd insulted a master work.  Well, at least Dean was fairly certain Cas would be safe this week.

"Now, about your side," Bela said.

Dean tensed.  Crap.  He's forgotten about that.  But there was no way that could get him sent home when the main dish was so good.  Heck, even he had thought it tasted good.

"Yes, I was assigned pâté, so I made chicken liver pâté with basil."

"I am not a pâté fan," Bela said.  "At all.  But I would eat yours again."

"It was a very good pâté," Naomi said.  "Technically excellent with good texture and flavor.  But I don't really see how it correlates with the Reuben meatloaf."

"Honestly," Cas said, I wasn't sure there was any way I could make pâté fit in with meatloaf other than to make the entire meatloaf out of pâté but then it wouldn't be a side."

"Well, sandwiches are often served with French fries or potato chips.  You could have made a pâté out of potatoes."

"Then that would be mashed potatoes, not pâté."

Naomi and Cas stared each other down.  Damn, his boyfriend was hot.

"Well, I liked it," Gabriel said.  "Separate, together, whatever.  It tasted like butter."

Cas smiled.  "Did you eat the preservative clarified butter on top?"

"Yes.  Were we not supposed to?"

"Cretin," Crowley said.

"Thank you, Castiel," Bela said before Gabriel could engage Crowley in a fight.  The contestants had heard rumors from the production staff that the judges really got into it during deliberation sometimes and Crowley and Gabriel really didn't like each other.

"Dean.  You made...well, you made noodles for us."

 Dean stepped forward.  "Yes, my dish was spaghetti and I thought I would go for the look of spaghetti, but change up the flavors.  That's why I used udon noodles and curry powder."

"It was the best thing I ate all night," Crowley said.

Dean raised his eyebrows.  "Thank you."

"And the garlic naan.  Did you really make it yourself from scratch?"

"I did."

"It is the best nann I've ever had, not made by an Indian person."

Dean was a little surprised the dish had gone over so well with Crowley, but then he remembered that there was a lot of authentic Indian food in London and some British people considered themselves to be connoisseurs. 

"Good or not," Naomi said, "it was not spaghetti and garlic bread."

"Well, I have to disagree with you on the garlic bread," Jake said.  "Naan **is** bread.  And it had butter and garlic on it.  And it was delicious."

Dean beamed at Jake.  Jake Talley said his naan was good.  He wondered if he'd sign autographs after the panel.

"Perhaps so," Naomi said, "but the noodle dish was not spaghetti."

"It was better than spaghetti," Gabriel said.

"But it wasn't spaghetti."  Naomi fixed him with a look.  Dean tried to hold her gaze like Cas had, but he dropped his eyes.  She had more than just ice in her gaze.

 "It's not spaghetti."

"Thank you, Dean," Bela said.  "Finally, Benny.  You picked chicken and dumplings for yourself.  Why?"

"Well, it's something I used to eat when I was a kid."

"One of your grandmammy's recipes?" Bela asked with a laugh.

"Yes, ma'am, the one and only.  I used her dumpling recipe and I thought I would try stuffing the chicken in the dumplings and then make a cream sauce for dipping.  I decided to make collard greens as my side because there wasn't much my grandmammy wouldn't serve collards with."

  

"I'm a big fan of your chicken and dumplings," Jake said.  "And I think it is still recognizable as the inspiration dish since it is—chicken in dumplings."

The contestants glanced at Naomi and tried to hide their smiles.

"I suppose," Naomi said.  "But to me it looked more like Chinese pork buns."

"Yes, ma'am, Benny said.  "That was the technique I was using not only for holding the filling in, but for aesthetics."

"Well, though," Crowley said.  "I think rather than updating chicken and dumplings, you just made really good dim sum."

"Yes, I agree," Naomi said.

"Dim sum, dat sum, I don't care" Gabriel said.  "It was scrumptious.  And those collard greens: the ham hock, the hot peppers—it was fantastic.  And not overcooked.  People tend to overcook collards."

"The collards were my favorite side of the night," Naomi said.

"Thank you, chefs," Benny said and returned to his place in line.

"Chefs," Bela said, "we're doing things a little bit differently tonight.  We were having such a hard time making a decision we wanted to speak with you as we thought it would help us make a decision.  We're going to have another discussion about tonight's dishes."

Astonished and dismayed, the four contestants trudged back into the holding room.

 What are they going to discuss?  It's not spaghetti, but it's good.  But it's not spaghetti.

 How long does it take to discuss that I should win?  Flip a coin for the loser.  They'll all be there eventually.

Dean mimed choking Zachariah behind his back as he began talking himself through the judging discussion again.  He was actually arguing with the imaginary judges.  Dean started pacing again, but found Cas in his way.

"What."

"Don't pace."

"Why not?  I just need to dispel some energy."

"Yeah?"

Dean started to move to walk away from Cas, but the man swayed into his space.  Dean stepped to the other side and there was Cas.  He wrapped his arms around Dean's neck and instinctually Dean put his hands to the other man's waist.  Cas kept them swaying and Dean suddenly realized they were slow dancing.  He disentangled himself with a series of spastic ninja moves.  Cas doubled over with laughter and had to grab onto a chair to keep from falling to the floor.  Dean turned a nasty glare on him, and then his jaw dropped when he saw Benny's shoulders shaking with mirth as he tried to hide his glee behind his hand.

"There is nothing amusing about what just happened."

Benny put up his hands in mock surrender.  Cas had given up the battle and was on the floor in hysterics.  Zachariah turned on them.

"What is so funny?  I can't hear myself think!"

 I can't hear myself think!

Thankfully the judges' discussion lasted only another twenty minutes.  Maybe they were ready to go home too.  When they were brought back into the room, Bela already stood in front of the table with her spatula canister.  Dean swallowed when he saw three spatulas sticking out.  Only three.  God, this was crazy.  How was he still here?

"I have three spatulas in my canister," Bela began her usual spiel.  Dean's brain was still a little dizzy from the sudden gravity of the situation.  None of them had any clue who might be safe and who might not be.  The judges seemed really divided and argumentative tonight.  At last Bela was ready to announce the winner.

"Chefs, I've been asked to inform you that you while most panels the judges discuss the results until a unanimous decision can be reached, in some cases we all just can't agree.  That was the case tonight for both the winner and the chef leaving us tonight.  That being said, tonight's winner is the chef who made an improvement on an old, tired dish while still preserving the integrity of the dish and also made a surprisingly delicious side.  Congratulations, Castiel."

Dean blew out a nervous breath tinged with relief.  Well, they were halfway there.  Cas collected his spatula and then selected one of the two remaining envelopes from the prize tree.  Dean could see his eyebrows raise as he saw what it was.  He glanced at Dean briefly over his shoulder and then read it aloud.

"A five day, four night stay for two at Elysian Fields Spa and Resort in Vail, Colorado including a couples massage and seaweed wrap."

Dean tried not to smile as Cas tucked the card back into the envelope.  He crossed to the right of the judges table and turned to wait for the rest of the results.  Dean wondered if he got eliminated tonight if five days at a spa would make him feel better about it.  Of course, that would require he and Cas staying in contact after the competition.  But why wouldn't they?  Dean was actually using the term boyfriend when referring to Cas.  He wasn't just a fun hookup to relieve stress during the competition...was he?

"Dean!"

Dean shook himself out his thoughts and looked around the room.  Everyone was looking at him.

"What?"

Bela waved a spatula at him.  "Do you want to collect your spatula?"

Dean realized he'd been called second.  He knew he must look like a total slack-jawed idiot on the cameras he shuffled forward with a stupid expression on his face and got his spatula.  He walked over to stand next to Cas who smiled at him and discreetly flapped the prize envelope at him.  Dean repressed a laugh and was glad he and Cas were on the same page regarding the fact that they would be spending post-competition time together.  Then he was reminded of said competition and the fact that Benny and Zachariah were in the bottom two.  Bela was going on about how they both created delicious dishes, but that they had stretched the bounds of the inspiration dish too far.  Dean shifted his weight. Benny was fine.  If they were even on the main dish then they had to go by sides and Benny's collards were leaps and bounds above Zachariah's coleslaw.

"In the end, we had to go with the chef who did at least create a version of his required dish as opposed to just making an entirely different food item altogether.  The chef staying with us tonight is...Zachariah."

Dean felt like the air had been punched out of his chest.  This had to be a fucking joke.

"That means unfortunately, Benny, you're out.  We're all very sad to see you go as we've really enjoyed your Creole roots and creativity over the course of the competition.  But.  I'm going to have to ask you to return to the kitchen and pack your knives."

Dean squeezed the spatula in his hand so hard he heard the wood crack.  Benny walked over to the tiny group and Dean had no qualms about throwing his arms around his friend.  He opened his mouth to say something, but his mind was blank.

Benny chuckled.  "I know what you mean, brother."

They gave each other a couple of pats on the back and then pulled apart before it got weird.  Benny shook Zachariah's hand and the man actually looked genuinely disappointed to see him go.  Which of course meant he'd really wanted Dean or Cas to get the boot.  Well, the feeling was mutual.  Then Benny shook hands with Cas.

"Keep him out of trouble, will ya?"

Cas smiled and nodded.  Dean frowned at them.  He didn't need the two of them forming some sort of Save Dean Winchester Alliance.  Benny gave them one last wave before he walked out of the room.  For the first time in the weeks they'd been competing and living together, Dean saw the flash of silver of Benny's prosthetic leg at his ankle.  And then he was gone.

 I came here to prove to myself as much as to anyone that I've got the chops to hang with the best chefs in America.  And I think I've done that.  I can go home to my restaurant and my family and feel proud of what I've accomplished here.  I wouldn't change a thing.

 Well, maybe I would have changed that last elimination result.

***

Dinner was an awkward affair, but the three of them were obligated to eat dinner out so that Benny could clear out his room at the condo.  Dean picked at his lobster ravioli, which for him meant he ate about three quarters of it, but couldn't actually finish it.  He got it and the other half of Cas' sirloin boxed up to go.  If there was one thing he'd learned in his childhood: waste not, want not.

When they got back to the condo, Zachariah immediately headed off to his room without a word, but Dean and Cas paid him no mind.  They wandered out onto the balcony with a bottle of chardonnay (because Dean remembered Cas liked wine better than beer) and sat down on the chaises on the front side of the balcony.  The moon was almost full and the waves sounded loud and rough on the beach below.

Cas reached out and took Dean's hand.  And Dean let him.

"You know, Cas, it'll be awesome when we really have this condo to ourselves."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, neither of us can lose to Zachariah.  I mean, we can't."

"I agree.  But even if we win, we won't stay here for the finale."

"We won't?"

"No.  It's always in a special location.  And it takes place like two months from now."

"What?"

"Did you read any of the contract?" Cas asked with amusement.

"The important bits.  Mostly."

Cas laughed.  "Well, we've got tomorrow off, in theory.  And then there is the Warm Up Challenge the following day and the Elimination Challenge after that, so we've got at most about two and a half days left here."

"Two and a half days?  Is that all?"

"That's all."

Dean's hand tightened around Cas'.  "How long have I known you?"

"Counting the preliminary rounds?"

"Sure."

"Mm, today's what, Friday?"

"You're asking me?"

"Good point.  Umm...twenty-five days.  Twenty-three since we've been in this condo."

"Less than a month.  This is crazy."

There was a beat, and then Cas sang, "So call me maybe."

Dean turned horrified eyes on him.

"I have sisters and a gay little brother!  Leave me alone."

"Yeah, but are any of them thirteen?"

"No."

Dean shook his head.  "Man you are so the wrong kind of nerd."

"Keep it up, Winchester, and you'll be spending your last two nights here with you, yourself, and your hand."

Dean chuckled.  He had a few responses to that, but he didn't want to risk even a play fight about who could go without sex the longest because if they only had two more nights here he wasn't going to waste it pretending like he didn't need Cas.  Or at least want him.  And now that he was thinking about it, what were they doing out here on this balcony when they could be inside making love?  Uh...fucking.  Right.  Manly mano-a-mano fucking.

Dean sat up and looked around.  "Where's Jerry?" he asked finally noticing what was bothering him: he and Cas were alone.  Like, actually alone.

"I paid him off."

Dean looked down at Cas who was in a full lounge on the chaise with his eyes closed.  "Are you joking?"

"Nope."  He opened his eyes and grinned.  And then he patted his thighs.  "C'mere."

Dean laughed and slid off his chaise and crawled onto Cas' lap.  Cas threaded his fingers with Dean's and returned his hot, hungry kiss.


	11. Round 10

Dean woke to an unfamiliar sensation, but his instinct to lash out and attack was tempered by a feeling of comfort and security.  He lay awake but kept his eyes closed as he tried to parse out what he was feeling.  That was definitely a hand on his wrist.  So, the weight over his stomach must be an arm, and that was attached to a body that was lying against his shoulder.  That soft, warm press to his neck felt like slightly chapped lips kissing him lazily and that—mm, that was a tongue right by his ear and teeth on his earlobe.  Dean started to move to grab Cas, but one arm was trapped in between his body and Cas' and the other only got a couple of inches off the bed before Cas' grip on his wrist kept it pinned to the mattress.

"C-Cas," Dean moaned softly.

"Good morning, Dean."

"Come on, baby, let me play too."

"No.  You got to play last night."

Dean chuckled and bit his lip at the pleasant memories from just a few hours ago.  He'd definitely reminded Cas of his "anything you want" promise and had decided to show the man that he wasn't completely submissive in bed and could give just as good (and hard and fast and deep) as he could take.

"Come on, now, don't be crabby.  You know you liked it."

"I didn't like anything," Cas said, almost dreamily as he shifted more on top of Dean.

"No, I guess not.  You loved it."

Dean laughed, but then stopped when Cas sat up and looked down at him.  His face had a serious expression and his eyes looked—worried, scared?  Dean lifted his arm and Cas let him; he brushed his knuckle over Cas' cheekbone.

"What is it?  Is something wrong?"

Cas shook his head.  "No.  At least I don't—Dean.  I know we haven't known each other long, but...I do...love it.  I lo—"

The door to the bedroom banged open and a producer walked in with her eyes intently focused on an iPad.

"Hi, guys, sorry to cancel your day off, but our guest judge has a scheduling conflict so we have to push the final challenge up.  You're going to need to be ready to leave in about forty-five minutes.  That's enough time, right?"

The woman looked up and blinked in astonishment.  Dean and Cas had sat up side by side in bed and made sure the blankets were covering everything important.  The producer's face broke into a grin, and then she looked concerned, and then embarrassed, and then utterly gleeful.

"Are you two sleeping together?!"

Dean and Cas glanced at each other.  Did she really need a verbal confirmation?

"I cannot wait to see the footage this season."  She laughed and backed out of the room.  "So sorry to disturb, guys.  But, forty-five minutes, okay?"

They gave her a wave of acknowledgement and as she shut the door they heard her say, "Did you know about this, Jerry?"

Cas laughed and leaned against Dean.  "I guess I better come out to my older brothers since this is clearly going to make the show."

Dean looked at him with his eyebrows raised.  "Your family doesn't know you're—whatever the hell pansexual is?"

"The ones I'm close to do.  And I mean my older ones might have guessed.  Honestly I just figured they never really cared.  And pansexual is totally a thing you ass."

"I never said it wasn't."

"So, I guess you're out as—have to be bisexual with how much you drool over women."

Dean made a face.  "I don't drool.  I appreciate."

"Hn."

"And yeah, my brother knows."

"Does your boss?  And the regulars at your restaurant?"

Dean laughed, but it was tinged with mortification.  It had been over two years ago but the memory still made him cringe.

"Let's just say they all were made aware of my nondiscriminatory practices in terms of sexual partners due to too much alcohol at a New Year's Eve party."

Cas laughed and then hugged Dean's arm and placed his chin on top of his shoulder.  "I would love to hear that story."

Dean smiled at him and kissed the tip of his nose.  "You would; it's hilarious.  But we've got less than forty-five minutes to get ready to go, so you'll just have to hear it some other time."

Dean pulled away from Cas as he whined at him for being no fun.  He slipped on a pair of boxer shorts that he wasn't entirely sure were his and opened the door to head down to the bathroom.  He was greeted by Jerry and his camera.

"I guess our grace period is over," Dean commented dryly.

"Not unless you've got a couple hundred on you."

"Oh, yeah, I've got wads of cash on me.  It's all crammed down my shorts."

"Well, I don't need the cash..."

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"...if I can still reach down your shorts."

Dean's jaw dropped.  "Jerry!"  He slammed the bathroom door shut.

***

"Hello, chefs," Bela said, looking at them with what Dean thought was affected sadness.  "Here we are at our last Warm Up Challenge.  Congratulations to all of you for making it this far.  You certainly earned it.  But since this is the last week before the finale, we have to go big with everything from the challenges, to the prizes, to the guest judge.  And speaking of our guest judge...Contestants, please welcome a world renowned chef with a three star Michelin restaurant in Paris, London, and New York, Balthazar Engel.”

Dean clapped politely and then noticed Cas was bouncing on his feet with a look of excited awe on his features.  Dean took his time looking over such a successful chef, and one who could elicit such a reaction out of Cas.  He was tall, blond, British, and undeniably smug.

Dean instantly disliked him.

“Welcome, Balthazar,” Bela said.  “You’re not any relation to our very own judge, Gabriel, are you?”

“Ah, no, not that I know.  Though it is hard to say what other inkwells my father might have dipped his nib into.”

He and Bela laughed.  Dean made a face.  What the hell was a nib?

"So," Bela said, "what do you think of our three finalists?"

Dean tilted his head.  That was an odd question to ask before they had cooked anything.  Balthazar smirked at them all.

"Well, they look alright."

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"That one in the middle is certainly easy on the eyes."

He winked at Cas, and Cas frickin' blushed.  Dean ground his teeth.  He was going to put glass in this douche bag's plate.  Or at least a hair.

"But, I feel like there should be more variety.  A lady or two at least.  Don't you agree?"

"You know," Bela said musingly, "I think you're right.  I wonder what we can do about that?"

Bela smiled and Dean knew something bad was about to happen.  She and Balthazar turned to look at the doors on the other side of the set kitchen.  The three contestants turned to look too.  The doors opened and in walked Benny.  Dean lit up.  Awesome!  But then Benny was followed by Jody, Kevin, Meg and Charlie, and all of the eliminated chefs back to Sarah.  They were all wearing their chef's coats and carrying their knife cases.  Dean's heart sank.  Were they going to have to earn their place in the final Elimination Challenge?  Were the contestants here for the entire "week" or just the Warm Up Challenge?  They had worked so hard to get here and now they had to face the same people all over again?

"Chefs, I'm sure you recognize your former competitors.  Today we're offering the opportunity for one of them to get back in the game."

Dean felt his unease ratchet up.  Were they going to compete to replace one of the current remaining chefs?

"Today's Warm Up Challenge can only have one winner.  If one of our three remaining chefs wins, they will receive a five thousand dollar prize furnished by Herpexia."

Dean wrinkled his nose.  He wasn't going to turn down five thousand dollars, but surely there were other sponsors they could have gone to first to provide the prize.

"If one of the eliminated chefs wins today, they don't get the five thousand dollars, but they do get to come back to the competition and compete in the Elimination Challenge for a chance at being a finalist.  But if there are four competing in this week's challenge, there will be a double elimination."

Dean allowed that to sink in for a moment.  It was entirely possible that two of the current winning chefs could be kicked out at the end of this round.  That hardly seemed fair after all the hard work they had done to get to this point.  But then, the show probably wasn't about fair so much as it was about what garnered the greatest ratings.

"Now, Balthazar will be determining which is the wining dish.  But after time starts we are leaving the kitchen and will be isolated throughout the cooking.  Then we will do a blind tasting of the dishes so that there is no bias.  So, please don't spell your name out in sauce on the plate."

The eliminated chefs laughed.  The in-competition ones laughed uneasily.  Nothing about today's challenge was good for them.

"Chef Balthazar, will you share with the chefs what their challenge will be for today?"

"Chefs, I'm French on one side of my family and I spend every summer in France and French cooking is my favorite and my specialty.  Classical French cooking is an excellent standard to use to compare chefs with different styles and backgrounds.  So, I want you all to prepare any French dish of your choice."

 What a fantastic challenge.

 FML.

 Son of a bitch.

The director called cut and more stations were rolled onto set and the eliminated chefs were set up around the room.  The set was pulled back farther than it had been in a while to compensate for all the extra bodies that would be running around.  Dean was not looking forward to the added chaos.  Though having Charlie's excited, smiling face at the station next to him was welcome.  She turned her finger into a gun and aimed it at him and made a clicking sound with her mouth.

"Just you wait and see, Winchester.  I'm gonna be back in the game."

Dean laughed.  "And I'm willing to forfeit five thousand dollars if that were to be the case."

"Aw, you're so sweet."

"Ain't I just?"

Charlie shoved him gently.  Then she leaned close and spoke quietly.

"Are you and Cas still fighting?"

Dean rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh.  He turned a look on her.  She put her hands in the air.

"You're right.  It's none of my business."

Dean put his hands on his station and leaned on it as he glanced at Charlie.  She was smiling and doing an odd winking with her eyes.  Dean smiled and looked away with a shake of his head.

"Come onnnnnnnn!  They won't tell us anything down the hall!"

"We're fine, Charlie."

"Fine, like, 'we can stand to be in the same room without fighting.'  Or fine like 'we can't stand to be in the same room without tearing each other's clothes off.'"

"Charlie!"

"Okay," the director said.  "We're ready to begin."

"The latter," Dean said out of the side of his mouth.

Charlie was forced to repress her squealing and jumping as the director called action.

"Okay, chefs," Bela said.  "You'll have two hours for this challenge.  So, I expect to see some real master pieces."

"Oh, yes, chefs," Balthazar said.  "I forgot to mention one thing about this challenge.  What's a challenge, without a little challenge?"

Everyone squirmed.

"You have two hours to complete your delicious French classics—and you have to do it without any utensils."

There was a general sense of disbelief and murder in the air.

"Oh, chefs," Bela said, "you may use tin foil as a substitute."

PAs scurried onto set and snatched up everyone's knives and canisters of cooking utensils and provided them all with a roll of tin foil.  The grumbling on set was quite loud, but the director didn't call cut and the producers didn't indicate that they thought they needed to redo the take.  Maybe they were just going to edit out all the audio.

"I'm looking forward to trying your dishes," Balthazar said.  "Get to work!  Your time starts now!"

The kitchen burst into activity and Dean was lost for a moment in the chaos.  He spotted Cas still at his station, meticulously folding tinfoil into implements he could use for cooking.  Dean swung by quickly and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"Hey, um, mousse is French, right?"

Cas smiled but didn't stop rolling the tinfoil into a stiff tube.  "Yes, babe, mousse is French."

"Thanks."  Dean gave Cas' butt a little pat and then went in search of cream, butter, sugar, and chocolate.

The challenge was surprisingly easy for Dean as he was able to spend most of the time out of everyone's way as he waited for his mousse to chill.  The texture probably wasn't as smooth and fluffy as it could be, but considering he'd had to whip it with a flimsy piece of tinfoil, he thought it had turned out pretty well.

When time was called the PAs took their dishes and arranged them in random order on a long counter.  The contestants were all shuffled into the holding room which now seemed very small as thirteen people were crammed into it.  Dean was about to sit next to Cas, but then he crossed the small space and plopped down next to Tracy.  She did a double take as she looked at him.

"Tracy."

"Dean," she replied, not seeming nervous or intimidated at all.

"So.  You've been Internet stalking my little brother have you?"

Tracy shook her head and gave him a snarky smile.  "I may have said hello to see what minority he was disabusing lately, but he's the one who kept calling me back."

"Mm-hmm."

"Oh, so has he told you his plane gets in on Sunday afternoon?" she asked.

Dean choked on his spit.  "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow.  He said you two were going to spend some brotherly bonding time in South Beach."

"Well, he said he would look into it, but..."

"You know.  I think I might stick around Miami for awhile."

"Really," Dean said wryly.

Tracy smiled to herself.  Dean rolled his eyes.  How did his girl-haired dork of a brother pick up chicks through a freaking webcam?

The contestants turned their heads as the screen they hadn't noticed set up on one side of the room flashed on.  They all turned their attention to it as they saw Balthazar and Bela approach the dishes on the counter.  The room went quiet as they listened to the comments being made.

"Well, French onion soup," Balthazar said.  "A wise decision to go with soup when your utensils are limited, but that also means it must be perfect to go with such a common, simple recipe.  What do you think, Bela, is it perfect?"

She shrugged a shoulder.  "It's not bad, but it certainly doesn't jump out as being special."

"Quite.  This soup could be found as any cafe's soup of the day."

 Good food doesn't just have to come from fancy rated restaurants.  Good food can be found anywhere.  But of course, this challenge had to be about having classical training.  I can't wait for them to do a challenge when the chefs have to cook dinner while having three screaming children hanging off them and dealing with an overflowing toilet.

"Ah, salade Lyonnaise," Balthazar said.  "This seems like a simple dish, but it really takes a light hand."

"This egg is poached perfectly," Bela said.

"And the champagne vinaigrette has excellent tang."

 Tang is what I aim for.

"I love a good duck confit," Balthazar said.  "I hope this one does it justice."

"The skin is crispy," Bela said.

"Yes.  And the seasoning is quite nice.  But the meat is a little dry."

 I knew I should have pulled it out a little sooner.  I just wanted that crispy skin!

"This looks decadent," Bela commented on the next dish.  "I love gratin."

"Mm.  And I like the use of ham and potato.  It's a very tasty dish indeed.  However, it is more of a side dish."

 If I ever hear the term side dish again...

"Well, the steak is cooked very well here.  And it was risky making a béarnaise sauce without having traditional tools, but it came out very well."

"I especially love the crispy sweet potato straws on top," Bela added.

 My son likes them too.

"Ooo, this looks like chicken provençal.   I love comfort dishes."

"Though this one is a little bland."

"You're right.  Well cooked chicken, but it could really use some herbs."

"And salt."

"Definitely some salt."

 I am actually not the biggest fan of salt.  So they can go *beep* themselves to an early high-blood pressure grave.

"Seafood bouillabaisse is always a good French dish," Bela said.

"Mm, but it all hinges on the rouille.  This one might have a touch too much heat in it, but I love the flavors and the mussels, scallops, and squid were interesting combination.  I quite like this."

"Oh, a savory galette," Balthazar said as he tried the next dish.  "You don't see this often outside of France.  You see quiche of course, but this is a full tart."

"The crust is really light and flaky."

"And the mushroom and leek filling is very tasty.  You know, there's nothing technically wrong with the dish, but it's also not wowing me."

 You just said it wasn't something you saw often outside of France!  How is that not wow worthy?!

"Oh, another well known and relatively simple dish here," Balthazar said.  "Let's see how they did with beef bourguignon."

"I think they did amazing.  I'm going to grab another bite."

"I completely agree with you.  Well cooked meat, excellent flavors.  I've had beef burgundy as it's called in English, many times.  This may be one of the best I've ever had."

 My grandmother learned that recipe while living in France after World War II.  Thanks bubbe!

"Ah, lamb tagine," Balthazar said.  "This is the perfect blending of French flavors and the exotic spice of northern Africa."

"Ooo!  This is quite spicy."

"Oh, I quite like it," Balthazar  said.

"It's a little too much for me."

 It's not too much for a real woman.

"Well, this is quite a treat.  I'm curious to see how an American handles a cassoulet," Balthazar said with smug disdain.

"Ooo," Bela said.  "If this is how he handles this, I can only imagine how he handles a woman."

"Or a man," Balthazar said and they both laughed.  "But what makes you think a man prepared this?"

"Oh, just a guess.  But I love that every bite is different."

"And it only gets better.  I'm truly impressed with this.  If I didn't know any better, I'd say a French master made this.

"Oh, my goodness!" Balthazar said with a laugh.  "Carottes râpées!  This just might be the unintentional unofficial national dish of France."

"Hmm, I'm not familiar with it myself.  Is it supposed to taste like this?"

"Yes, it is.  This is actually a well done one."

"Not that exciting is it?"

"No, not really."

 I am so underappreciated.

"And what have we here?  Chocolate mousse?"

"Another risky dish without having access to a whisk," Bela said.

"Yes.  Though the texture didn't suffer for it.  This is smooth as silk."

"And not too sweet.  A lot of desserts like this tend to have too much sugar."

"I agree.  This is very good.  Though I wonder if it's only so good because it came at the end of the meal?"

 No.  It's good because it's good.  Damn.

Dean felt something lean on him and he looked away from the screen to see Cas with his face buried in his shoulder, trying to laugh quietly.

"What?" he asked.

Cas raised his head and smiled at Dean, his eyes sparkling.  "You made chocolate mousse?"

"Yeah.  But you knew that.  I asked.  You said it's French."

"It is, but I thought you were going to make a savory mousse."

Dean huffed and slumped in his chair.  "What difference does it make?  They liked it."

"Yes, they did.  But you never told me you were so good at desserts."

"What about it?"

"I'm just saying that could expand our horizons."

Dean's brow creased in confusion for a moment until he realized Cas talking about their sexual horizons.

"Oh!" he said, eyebrows shooting up.

"Oh," Cas confirmed, leaning forward for a kiss...

...that never happened when Garth shouted, "Whoa!  What is happening here?!" with gleeful merriment.

"Oh, that's right, you left before Don Juan and Casanova here started amorously displaying their affection for each other all over the condo," Zachariah said with a huff.

"I'm so glad you made up!" Kevin said.

"Yeah, it's great news," Meg said flatly.

"The best," Aaron said, just as dryly.

"We never—" Dean started.

"Yes, you did," at least five voices answered.

"Chefs," Bela called from the door.  "Did you enjoy your show?"

There was a mixture of grumbling mutters and pleased murmurs.

"Fantastic.  Now, if you'd all like to join us, I'm sure you're all anxious to find out who is the winner of the challenge."

The chefs filed out of the holding room and back into the kitchen.  They lined up and Bela and Balthazar hit their marks.

"Well, I must say I'm astonished," Balthazar said.  "All of these dishes were quite excellent even if you'd had the use of your tools.  Knowing the handicap you had, it truly is amazing what you were able to accomplish."

"So, tell us which dish is the winner," Bela said.  "We're all anxious to know if the prize is five thousand dollars, or another shot at the title of America's Next Top Chef."

"Well, like I said they were all good.  But there were two stand outs for me.  The beef bourguignon was so delicious and tender, it was like what real comfort food should be.  And the cassoulet!  It's astonishing anyone attempted it, and even more impressive that it came out so beautifully."

"I, for one, loved it," Bela said.

"It's a very difficult decision."  Balthazar milked the following pause for all it was worth.  "But in the end I had to go with the dish that was just a beautifully made French classic that satisfied my nostalgia as well as my appetite.  The winning dish is the beef bourguignon."

 Yes!  Yeeeeees!  Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!

 Great.  Aaron is back.

"Congratulations, Aaron," Bela said.  "You're back in the game.  Thank you to all the other returning chefs.  It was truly a special treat to have you all back here today."

The producers waved the losers off the set.  They all walked out slowly and Benny gave Dean a pat on the shoulder as he walked by.  Once they were gone, Aaron joined the other three and Dean gave up some cool points in order to return his victory fist bump.  Aaron smiled at him and Dean smiled back.  Then he turned and looked at Cas who was not smiling.  Dean stopped smiling.

"Well, this is very exciting now," Bela said.  "The stakes have definitely gone up.  This Elimination Challenge will be a good one I think, but two of you will be packing your knives and two of you will be the finalists and will participate in the final round at our secret destination which will be revealed at tomorrow night's judging panel.  Balthazar, will you explain the challenge, please."

"Oh, well, it's quite simple really.  You'll be preparing a dish to serve to the judges, myself, and Dick Roman, Edgar Martinez, and Cameron Gaines—the creative minds behind the Butterfly's Cocoon.  If you're unfamiliar with Butterfly's Cocoon, it is one of the premiere restaurants here in Miami and is known for its inventive, themed rooms and just as creative and delicious food.  It's going to take some real innovation on your parts to be on par with the amazing fare that's offered there daily.  And to give you inspiration, we want you to prepare a dish that is inspired by the color of one of the rooms at Butterfly's Cocoon, and that is where you will be serving."

"Chefs," Bela took over, "we have some pictures for you to take a look at it, and you will have twenty minutes to select a room and the color for your inspiration and to plan a three course tasting menu around it.  One of the courses must be a dessert.  Then you'll have thirty minutes at Super Foods and a two hundred dollar budget."

Everyone's eyes shot up and Dean let out a low whistle.

"That's right.  We're expecting magnificent things.  You'll have three hours to prepare tonight because you'll only have thirty minutes to cook tomorrow before you have to serve.  Your time starts now."

The four contestants walked over to the pictures laid out on the counter.  Just as Dean feared the rooms were gaudy and bizarre and to him, completely uninspiring.  He didn't even have a favorite color.  How was he supposed to be inspired by one?

 I picked red.  It's a powerful, confident, aggressive color.  Plus, I want to make a tuna tartare.  Kind of need red for that.

 I went with yellow because the first thing I thought of was corn chowder.  I have an amazing corn chowder recipe and I can build out from there with pasta or maybe curry, and I think I'll serve a custard as my dessert.

 I picked green because there are a lot of vegetables and fruits I can work with.  It's also just a bright, vibrant, and refreshing color.  And, I don't know—I just felt drawn to the green.  It might be my new favorite color.

 I was just going to close my eyes and eenie meenie miney mo it, you know?  But then the blue one caught my eye.  I don't know.  I guess I just like blue for some reason.

On the way to Super Foods, Dean was feeling antsy.  He didn't really have a plan or a list of ingredients.  He'd never had this much trouble planning a dish for a challenge before.  He'd had a few ideas, but had to throw them out for one reason or another.

"Hey Dean," Aaron said.

"Yeah?"

"I'm impressed you decided to take such a challenging color, but why'd you do it?"

Dean was confused.  "What do you mean?"

"Well, uh, unless it's that fake, processed color—there are no blue foods."

Dean had a revelation.  No wonder he was having trouble planning his dish.  And why all his ideas were revolving around blueberries.  He hated blueberries—even in pies—and when they were squashed up they were more purple than blue.

"Son of a bitch."

***

Dean lay on a chaise on the balcony, rubbing his head.  His head was pounding and his finger hurt from where he'd nearly sliced off the tip of his ring finger.  Aaron had moved his stuff back into the condo per the producers' request even though they would all be gone by tomorrow night.  They were doing an early afternoon service tomorrow, presumably so that the judges could make their decision within a couple of hours and it would still be a decent enough hour to kick them out and get them on planes home.  Dean wasn't worried about that.  He'd talked to Sam when they got in and found out he had rented a condo for three days right on the beach.  He refrained from asking if Tracy would be joining them, but just barely.  Regardless, he was excited to see his little brother.  But first he had to get through this last challenge.  He cursed softly.  He didn't want to get sent home.  He wanted to win.  He really did now.

"Hey, babe."

Dean dropped his hand and opened his eyes.  Cas was squatting beside him and raised a hand to comb his fingers through Dean's hair.

"How's your finger?"

Dean raised it up into the light.  "Hurts."

Cas kissed the bandaged digit.  "Let's go for a walk."

"Where?"

"The beach."

"Won't it be dark?"

"It's a full moon.  It'll be fine.  We'll walk toward the pier, which is lit.  I haven't been on it yet.  I'd like to see it."

"Okay."

After receiving permission from the producers, Dean, Cas, and a camera crew made their way down to the beach.  Dean and Cas removed their shoes at the end of the boardwalk from the condos to the beach and walked barefoot to the edge of the water.  They walked in silence toward the pier, not sure what to talk about since they couldn't talk candidly.  Fortunately they reached the pier in only fifteen minutes, though it was still a long time to go without speaking.

They walked down the wooden pier and out over the ocean.  Even with the bright orb of the moon reflecting on the water it was too dark to see anything other than a few lighted buoys.  They leaned on the railing and stared out into the darkness.  Dean inhaled the strong briny scent and thought about moving closer to the ocean.  Then he wondered if he was willing to uproot and move, would he be willing to move somewhere that got so cold it could freeze the snot right onto a person's face.  He wondered if Cas might be willing to move somewhere a little warmer.

"How's your headache?" Cas asked.

Dean raised his head.  "Ah, it's gone."

"I thought a walk and some fresh air might help."

"I think it was the company."

Cas smiled and ducked his head.  Dean put a hand under his chin and made him look up.  They looked into each other's eyes, only a breath apart, the ocean the only witness to their unspoken and unacknowledged confession.  Dean closed the small distance between them and kissed Cas tenderly.  He'd never enjoyed kissing if he knew it wasn't going to lead to more, but this—this was the best kiss of his life.

Something flashed in his peripheral vision and Dean pulled back.  Light from one of the lamps had reflected off the camera lens.  Dean turned his back on it and faced the empty blackness in front of him.  He really hated that he'd met Cas where their whole relationship was captured on film and would be broadcast out for millions of total strangers to see.

"You want to head back?" Cas asked.

Dean nodded.  They began the walk back to the condo along the water's edge.  Again they didn't speak, but this time there was nothing uncomfortable about it.  About halfway there Cas reached out and took Dean's hand.  Dean was still aware of the camera crew behind them, but he didn't pull his hand away.  He held on tightly.

***

Dean laughed as Aaron described what living in the other condo had been like.  Apparently there had been an incident involving Rufus, pancake mix, Meg, wax paper, Peacemaker Garth, and a brown left shoe.  By the end of the tale, Dean was in hysterics and was worried about burning his shrimp.

Cas had done his service first and been out of the kitchen before Dean had showed up to start his final preparation.  Zachariah had already left and Aaron was about five minutes from his service.  He'd tried Aaron's corn chowder and was very, very worried about his chances of staying in the competition.  One spot had to be going to Aaron.  His custard had also gone down real smooth too.  Right until he had his hand whacked with a wooden spoon for continuing to sneak bites of it even after Aaron said he barely had enough to fill all eight ramekins.

Then in a flurry of shouts and banging and sweeping movements Aaron and the waiters serving his dishes were out the door.  Dean was left alone in the relatively quiet kitchen and concentrated on his food.  This had to be perfect.  It had to be absolutely **perfect** or he was going home with nothing.

The last few minutes of his cook time flew by, and before he knew it he was walking up a flight of stairs behind four waiters to a very blue room.  The judges were sitting on pillows at a low table, Japanese style.  His food definitely wasn't Japanese influenced, and he hoped that wouldn't count against him.  He looked around the table at the judges and his eyes landed on a nondescript man in a suit.  He smiled close-lipped, and then revealed his teeth.  It was a dangerous smile and Dean felt uneasy when he saw it.  Dick Roman was known for more than just the restaurants he ran.  He wondered if the producers thought the rumors of his side businesses were just rumors.  That smile told Dean they definitely were not.  He'd faced down jihadist insurgents that scared him less than this creepy fuck.

Dean shook himself and plastered on a smile for the rest of the judges.  Bela smiled at him.

"Dean, won't you please explain your dishes to us?"

Dean inhaled and exhaled slowly.  This was it.

***

The holding room was quiet and still.  All four of them were too nervous and tense to even pace or fidget.  They just stared at each other.  On the off chance he did make it to the finale, how on earth would he survive the waiting for **that** decision?  This was probably a classifiable form of torture.  When Bela came in to get them, they all wished they could wait a little bit longer.  They trooped through the short hallway to the judging room and lined up on their marks.

"Castiel," Bela said.  "We enjoyed the sophistication of your meal and the flavors were scrumptious.  Will you tell us a little bit more about it and why you chose the color green?"

"Well, once I knew I was going to be working with the color green, I had to do a pesto.  But I didn't want to do the typical pesto pasta, so I made a pine nut pesto and served it over fresh mozzarella."

"The pesto was fantastic," Gabriel said.  "Did you make the mozzarella yourself?"

"Unfortunately, no.  I do know how, but I just didn't have the time.  Then I handmade spinach linguine for the entree and made a creamy avocado sauce to compliment it.  And make my chicken green."

"It was one of the highlights of the evening for me.  I've never had an avocado cream sauce outside of a Tex-Mex meal before, and it was nice to see it utilized with a different flavor profile.  The pasta was made and cooked perfectly.  Very good job."

"Thank you.  For dessert, I know Miami is known for its key limes, but I didn't want to do something expected.  That's why I went with a green tea cheesecake."

"I loved the cheesecake," Crowley said.  "It wasn't heavy-handed, just a nice, light taste and the cake was creamy and smooth."

"So, why did you choose green?" Bela asked.

"I chose green because it's a very vibrant and lively color.  It's a happy color.  At least, it makes me happy."

"I noticed all your dishes had a lighter shade of green to them," Balthazar said, "which left your three dishes a little monochromatic.  Was that intentional?"

Cas tilted his head.  "I—I don't think it was a conscious decision not to use darker greens.  The spinach was dark, initially.  I think, I just like the bright green.  It reminded me of...feeling content.  I think good food makes people feel satisfied and content."

"I agree," Bela said.  "Thank you, Castiel."

Castiel returned to his place and Zachariah was up next.

"Zachariah," Bela said with a smile.  "You went with red.  The color of passion.  Tell us about your meal."

"Well, I made a tomato and beet spicy soup to start, and followed that with tuna tartare with a lightly poached quail egg yolk.  For dessert I made a poached pear in red wine sauce."

  

"I enjoyed the soup," Naomi said.  "It was a little predictable to do tomato soup, but adding the beets and the spice did make it a little different."

"The tartare was good, but a tad simple at this stage of the game, don't you think?" Crowley asked.

"But the pears more than made up for it," Gabriel said.  "They weren't mushy, the sauce had excellent flavors.  One of the best desserts I've had served on this show...ever."

"I will say that the tomato soup was a bit powerful as a first course," Balthazar said.  "The strong flavors and spiciness kind of overtook the palate and made it difficult to taste the more delicate tuna flavor."

"Well," Zachariah said stiffly.  "There was meant to be a watermelon palate cleanser served with the tartare.  Unfortunately.  I was unable to make it."

 Do you see this?  Do **see** this?  I don't know what those freaks were doing that would cause an espuma to create enough force to penetrate a watermelon.  The whole inside was ruined!

"So why red?" Bela asked.

"Well.  Red is confidence and I am confident in myself."

The judges waited, perhaps expecting Zachariah to find some inspiration other than his own awesomeness.

"Well, thank you, Zachariah.  Aaron?"

"I prepared for you a chipotle corn chowder, yellow curry chicken, and a mango custard."

  

"I was going for spiciness and exoticness and brightness.  Yellow is my favorite color.  It reminds me of the sun, which brings us heat and the tropics.  So, that's what I brought to you."

"The corn chowder is very good," Gabriel said.  "Creamy and flavorful with just the right amount of kick.  And a very bright yellow I might add."

"I love curry," Crowley said, "and you definitely did this dish justice.  Well balanced and the chicken was nice and juicy."

"The custard was my favorite," Naomi said.  "You really got a lot of real mango flavor into it, which can be difficult to do with this particular fruit."

"Each individual component was very good," Balthazar said, "but it wasn't a very cohesive meal.  We were in Mexico and then Thailand and then we were off to France for the custard.  Your story behind your inspiration color helped bind it together, but it still feels a little forced."

"Thank you, Aaron," Bela said with a smile.  "You definitely showed that you earned your place here tonight.  It was a delicious meal."

"Thank you."

"Dean?"

Dean stepped forward and focused on the judges faces, trying to get a read on them as he spoke.

"So, I chose blue."

"Not the easiest color to work with in the culinary world," Balthazar noted.

Dean let out a humorless laugh.  "Tell me about it.  But, I didn't want to cop out by just saying I cooked food inspired by blue, like fish come from the ocean.  I wanted to do **blue** foods.  So, I made coconut shrimp for an appetizer and used blue cornmeal as the frying batter."

"I thought it was awesome!" Gabriel said.  "When that shrimp came out—bright, bold blue—I had a giggle fit.  I did!  And it tasted great!  The cilantro lime dipping sauce was a perfectly added touch."

"The entree was a little trickier.  Atlantic blue lobsters are a beautiful shade of blue, but they change color when cooked.  So, I dunked a couple in boiling water to—" Dean couldn't think of nicer way to say it "—kill them, and then cleaned them out so I could use the shells as a serving platform for the lobster tortellini.  That way at least the original color of the lobster was present on the plate."

 

"Did you make the pasta for the tortellini from scratch?" Naomi asked.

"Yes.  I seasoned the lobster with butter, garlic, shallots, and basil and mixed it with ricotta and just a bit of mascarpone to make it creamier."

"Mascarpone!  I was wondering how you got such a divine texture.  That tortellini you served us tonight was flawless, Dean.  The pasta was very well executed, the lobster cooked to perfection, and the cheese mixture was heavenly.  I love the whimsy of the blue lobster shell.  That was certainly clever enough for me."

"Thank you, Chef."

"And the dessert," Bela said.

Dean grinned.  "Well, I'd been trying to use naturally blue foods for the most part, but when it came to the dessert, I just said screw it.  Macaroons are often colored anyway."

"I prepared a trio of flavors, hopefully you were able to sample a bite from each one.  There was champagne, almond, and blackberry."

"Who exactly did you sell your soul to for this recipe?" Crowley asked.  "Because I am not letting you leave Miami without making a dozen boxes of them for me."

"Well, maybe I can make some for you when I stay at your vineyard in Napa."

Crowley laughed.  "Yes, you can.  And I'm not joking."

Dean raised an eyebrow.  He really didn't look like he was joking.

"They were divine, Dean," Balthazar said.  "I was amazed when the others told me you have zero classical training.  You must be a savant."

Dean slightly narrowed his eyes.  Wasn't the word "idiot" usually in front of that word?

"Dean, yours was my favorite meal of the night," Bela said.  "The appetizer, the entree, and the dessert.  And I was extremely impressed with your ability to stay true to your food color inspiration without resorting to dyes or purple colored foods.  So, tell me.  Why did you choose blue?"

Dean knew this question would be coming; he'd been thinking about it all day.  He still didn't have a good answer.

"Um, I think the picture of the room caught my eye.  And I guess I've been around the ocean so much lately.  I don't want to come off like I just picked it arbitrarily because I didn't.  I—I was drawn to it and really wanted to do something with it.  I just don't know how to explain why it seemed to...call...to me."

Bela laughed and put her elbow on the table, resting her chin on her hand.  "Do you not?  I think I could probably figure out why the color blue has such a profound effect on you."

Dean tilted his head.

"Thank you, Dean."

Dean returned to his place and the four contestants were ready to be dismissed from the room so the judges could deliberate further, but then Bela stood up from the table and picked up her canister.  Two lonely spatulas tangled together inside it.

"Well, chefs, we had discussed the meals at great length before panel and thought that there were two that really were above the others.  We wanted to chat with you to see if your inspiration made us think twice, but we agree our original decision is still the right one.

"All four meals were delicious.  You should all be very proud because you certainly were the cream of this year's crop.  Heck, you might be the cream of all the season's crops.  I can honestly say this season produced some of the best food I've eaten not only on the show, but in my life.  And all of you are responsible for that.

"However, we can only have two finalists.  The winner of the color inspiration challenge is a chef who really had a challenge to work with and came up with creative ways to create his dishes, and not only didn't allow his food to suffer for it, but made the best food of the night.  Congratulations, Dean.  You're our first finalist."

Dean knew his jaw was open and that he was standing and staring at Bela and that stupid spatula with his name on it like a moron.  There was a buzzing in his ears and his knees felt a little wobbly.  He felt something nudge him gently and he took a couple uneasy steps forward before he found his strength again.

"Thank you," he said as he took the spatula.  Then he looked past Bela to the other judges.  "Thank you very much."

"Hey, you earned it, Dean-o," Gabriel said.

Dean turned numbly to walk to the right of the judges' table.

"Oh, Dean, aren't you forgetting something?"

Dean looked back at Bela and she nodded her head toward the Prize Tree.  Only one envelope remained.  Dean crossed the room to pluck it from the tines of a fork and didn't even register the cameraman spooning him as he read the prize.

"A Sea Ray bowrider motor boat."

Dean didn't know exactly what that was, so he was glad they included a picture.

He owned a frickin' speed boat!  Maybe he did need to move closer to the ocean.  He walked over to the right side of the judges' table, grinning at his new toy.  It was only when he looked up and saw the three remaining contestants still fidgeting on their marks that he remembered he still had something to be nervous about.  Or did he?  Regardless of who won, they were all going home tonight.  He and Cas would be leaving each other anyway.  Maybe it would be better if Cas were eliminated.  It wouldn't be fun to have to compete against him in the finale.  Or would it be fun to be up against somebody he...loved.

"The other finalists showed versatility, excellent technical skills, creativity, originality, and also represented his inspiration with both his food's flavors and colors.  Joining Dean in our soon to be revealed secret finale destination is...Castiel!"

Dean dropped his head back and let out a sigh of relief.  He actually was really glad Cas was a finalist with him.  Even if they had to go head to head against each other, he wanted the best for his friend.  Cas collected his spatula and joined Dean.  They held back for all of two seconds before they hugged each other tightly.  They did manage not to start making out on the spot.

"That means Aaron and Zachariah, you're out.  Please return to the kitchen and pack up your knives."

Aaron and Zachariah shook hands with Dean and Cas, Aaron hugged Dean but that was all the hugging that took place, and then they left the room.  Dean and Cas looked at each other with wide eyes and nervous grins.  This was going to be interesting.

 Nothing worse than getting cut twice.  But I do feel like I redeemed myself for my early departure in Round 5.  This was a win for me.

 *beep* *beep beep* *beep beeping beep* *beeped beeping beep*

 I did enjoy my time here though.  It was fun.  I wish all the best of luck to Dean and Castiel.

***

Dean allowed his fingers to tickle playfully along the hair at the nape of Castiel's neck as they kissed.  Cas giggled and squirmed in his lap, but he was sitting sideways so there wasn't too much contact that would get them into trouble.  They were still waiting in the holding room for some reason, but they had found ways to entertain themselves and celebrate their victories.

"Dean, Castiel, can you—oh."  A producer cut off and averted his eyes as he walked in on them.  "We. Uh, we have one final thing to film," he said before scurrying out.

Dean laughed and gave Cas one last kiss with a sloppy smacking sound.  Cas made a disgruntled noise and used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth off.

"Gross."

"You liked it."

They walked back into the judging room and saw the eleven other contestants and the judges in the room.  Dean had a momentary panic attack.  Was something wrong?  Had the contestants complained about their relationship?  Said it was unfair somehow?  Were they being disqualified and others were going to take their places?  Dean noticed the cameras were rolling.  Surely this sort of thing wouldn't be done on screen.

"Dean, Castiel," Bela said, "we're going to reveal the finale location.  But first, you both get to select two sous chefs who will be helping you with your final challenge and will, of course, also be getting a trip to our secret destination."

Dean wheezed out his relief so hard he got a lot of strange looks and a concerned Cas rubbing his arm, checking on him.  He waved everyone off.

"I'm fine," he said weakly.

"Well then.  Dean, since you won, you can select first."

Dean didn't even have to think about it.  "Benny."

Benny grinned and crossed the room to stand next to him.  They clasped hands and gave each other a hug.

"I'm here for ya, brother."

"Castiel?" Bela prompted.

Cas didn't hesitate either as he selected Meg.  Dean's eye twitched.  She sashayed across the floor and stood next to Cas, tossing a smile in Dean's direction.

Dean looked at the group.  It was a bit of a decision.  Zachariah was probably the best chef left of the bunch, but would he be willing to follow Dean's directions?  That was questionable.  Aaron was certainly a very talented chef, and it would serve Cas right for selecting Meg, but he knew who he really wanted to take.

"Charlie, get over here."

Charlie squealed and hop-walked across the room.  She hugged Dean and then bounced beside him.  Cas looked over the remaining chefs.  Dean really had no clue who he would pick.  He'd become very friendly with Kevin and Jody because they'd been around the longest, but what if he was strategizing to select one of the more talented chefs like Aaron or Zachariah?

"I pick Kevin."

Kevin looked a little surprised, but then he smiled and walked over to give Cas a man-handshake-hug.  Dean was happy with that choice.  He liked the kid.  And he knew Kevin and Charlie had become good friends too.

"Now that you have your sous chefs," Bela said, "you just need your destination.  This season's finale will be taking place...in The Bahamas at the Atlantis Resort!"

Dean felt a thrill go through his body.  He'd always wanted to go to the Caribbean.  And now he was going to have sand, sun, surf, and maybe a golden-skinned and oiled Cas running toward him in slow motion down the beach.  It worked for guys too, it really did.  Dean was surprised when Charlie jumped into his arms, but she was light enough that he wasn't thrown off balance.

"Thank you, Dean!  This is going to be awesome."

Dean looked over at Cas who was getting hugged by Kevin and Meg.

"It is going to be awesome."

***

After the cameras stopped rolling, the producers bustled in and got everyone moving toward the vans that would transport them back to the condo.  They all had seven or eight o'clock flights booked and needed to vacate the residence by five at the latest.

It was fairly easy for Dean to pack since he'd never really unpacked, but he made sure to do double checks of both the bedrooms he stayed in, the bathrooms, and the washing machine.  He'd lost his favorite Metallica shirt one time by leaving it in the laundry room of an ex-girlfriend's house.

They were all so crunched for time Dean didn't get to take Cas out to their corner of the balcony for one last smooch.  All thirteen contestants were clogging up the two elevators as many had multiple suitcases they had to get down twenty stories.  There was a line of taxis on the circular drive out front, but Dean waited to the side since Sam was supposed to be meeting him and taking him to their vacation rental, which apparently wasn't that far away.  He said goodbye to everyone who came out, shaking hands and giving hugs, and laughing about how terrified they were to see this thing finally air.

The crowd had thinned out a bit and then Dean heard someone shout his name behind him.  Not someone.  He would know that voice anywhere.  He turned around and threw his arms open for Sam to crash into him.

"Hey, Sammy!"

"Hi, Dean!"

Dean gave him a couple pats on the back and then let go.  "How was your flight?"

"Good.  It was fine.  I'm not you, you know."

"Shut up.  So, you seen the rental place yet?"

"Yes.  It is awesome, dude.  We can basically roll out of bed and onto the beach."

"Sweet."

"Hey, Dean," said a sultry voice.  "Are you going to introduce me to your brother?"

Dean smiled at Sam's slowly reddening face.  He turned to Tracy.  "Sure.  Tracy, this is Sam, Sam, Tracy."

Tracy stared up at him.  "Dios mio.  You are bigger in person."

Dean burst out laughing and clapped his beet red brother on the back.  He walked away to give them some time to stare awkwardly at each other.  Then he noticed Cas loading his suitcase into the back of a taxi.  He jogged over.

"Hey, Cas, you weren't going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?"

"No.  I was coming back.  Is that your brother?"

"Yeah, that's Sam."  He drew breath to call out to him but Cas laid a hand on his arm.

"Ah, let him be.  This could be the make or break moment for him."

"Yeah, I guess."  Then Dean realized Sam wouldn't know who Cas was.  He hadn't spoken about him with his brother.  At least he hadn't used any names or pronouns.  And how would he introduce him anyway?  Friend, boyfriend, lover?  Now that they were outside of their little bubble of competition, were their feelings still the same?  Had they just been clinging to each other to ease the stress?  Dean definitely thought his feelings for Cas were real, but out here on the busy street with his brother not twenty yards away, he suddenly felt unsure.  Cas hadn't seemed like he wanted to meet his brother.  Was that because that would make it real and not just a competition fling?

"So, I guess we'll be in The Bahamas next time I see you," Cas said, but his voice sounded a little unsure.

Dean wasn't sure what to do with that or what the man was trying to tell him with his unreadable expression.

"Uh, yeah, I'll see you there.  It was really nice meeting you, Cas."

Dean stuck out his hand.  Cas looked at it and then back up at Dean.  Then he reached out and shook Dean's hand.

"Yeah.  It was nice meeting you too."

They stood in a terrible, awkward silence.  What the hell had just happened?

Cas adjusted the backpack he had slung over one shoulder.  "Well, then.  I guess I'll see you around."

Cas turned and walked over to his taxi.  Dean stared like an idiot.  He watched Cas climb in and realized that he'd totally blown Cas off like he was some schmo contestant he'd only known for a couple of rounds.  He was such a fuckwit.  Dean smiled remembering the name Cas had called him what seemed like so long ago.  He would just tell Cas he was an idiot when he called him.  Or he'd remind him how messed up his psyche was in an e-mail.  Or maybe he'd sext him.  That could be fun.

As Cas' taxi pulled away from the curb, Dean realized he couldn't do any of that.  Since they hadn't had access to their cell phones throughout the course of the competition, it had never occurred to him to ask Cas for his contact information.

"Fuck."

Dean ran down the sidewalk after the taxi but pulled up short as it rounded the corner and disappeared into traffic.  He ran a hand down his face in annoyed despondency.  All he could do was hope that Cas wouldn't hate his guts the next time he saw him.

The Bahamas were going to be interesting.


	12. Finale

Dean leaned on the bar at the Roadhouse, trying to appear busy by wiping down a clean pint glass and not like he was spying on the latest group of people to try his experimental dishes.  He left for The Bahamas tomorrow for the final round of America’s Next Top Chef and he’d been practicing new and old recipes and cooking techniques for the past two months and trying them out on the Roadhouse’s unwitting customers.  He couldn’t disclose yet what his status was on the show, so he tried to sneak in tweaks on the current menu items or featured daily specials—something they’d never done at the Roadhouse before.  He’d gotten some pretty good feedback, but there had also been some massive failures.

He’d looked up some traditional Bahamian dishes and ingredients and practiced with them since he assumed they would have one challenge that would require their use, but those dishes had mostly come out disastrous.  Well, Dean didn’t think they were **that** bad, regardless of what the Roadhouse patrons said.  Then again, the kind of people who frequented the Roadhouse probably didn’t have the most refined palates.

Tonight he had tried switching out the usual hush puppies for conch fritters.  Nobody had complained yet nor had he seen many come back partially eaten after the tables were bussed, so he counted that as a success.  He’d also made a conch soup and that was what had him leaning over the bar to see how the cute blond reacted to it.  His date had refused to even try it, saying she wasn’t going to eat some big muscle-tongue thing that came out of a shell—as she devoured her clam chowder.  It looked like he was eating it.  He wasn’t falling out of his seat in a burst of culinary orgasm, but he hadn’t sent it back either.

Dean sighed and put the pint glass down before he polished a hole in it.  He felt physically ill when he thought about his trip tomorrow.  If flying weren’t bad enough, and knowing that he had a seven course meal to plan with whatever curveballs the judges wanted to throw at him, he was absolutely terrified of the thought of seeing Cas again.

It wasn’t as if they had parted on bad terms, exactly, or that Dean or Cas had outright stated that with the end of the competition came the end of their fling, but they had both been stupidly vague about whether or not what they had **was** just a fling.  He could only imagine what Cas must have thought of Dean’s impersonal handshake.  But he could have said something.  Or asked for Dean’s contact information.  Or acted like he gave two shits about what had happened between them and not just stand there looking at him blankly.

Before leaving Miami he'd asking the producers for Cas' contact information, but he hadn't been surprised when they'd told him they weren't allowed to give out other contestants' personal information.  So, Dean had looked him up; how many Castiel Novaks could possibly be in St. Cloud, Minnesota?  According to the Internet white pages, none.  Dean had briefly considered that Cas had lied about where he was from, but then he looked up Cas’ restaurant, Salvation.  He’d found it on Yelp.  It had all positive reviews except one that said it was pretentious and overpriced.

He’d debated for days about calling, figuring that a hostess wouldn’t call the chef out of the kitchen to take a phone call, but he could leave a note with his phone number.  The fear that Cas might not call him back made him chicken out time and again after picking up the phone.  The one time he did manage to let the call connect, he’d panicked when someone had answered.  He’d asked if they had a waiting list started (they did, which was impressive because the Roadhouse hardly ever reached capacity except at the bar on weekends) and put his name on the list.  Then he’d wondered if Cas would hear it called from the kitchen.  He’d called back to have his name taken off the list, but hung up before anyone answered.  He’d spent the next couple of days expecting some terrible fallout from what he’d done.  He had no idea what that might be, but he’d jumped every time the phone rang or the door to the restaurant opened.  Nothing ever happened.

“Hey, Dean.”

Dean jumped as he was pulled out of his thoughts by his brother taking a seat at the bar.  He was so tall he didn’t even have to step up to get on the bar stool, he just sat down on it.  Sam looked at him with concern.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dean replied, standing up straight and trying to dispel his jitters.

“Why are you even still here?  Your flight is at eight tomorrow and you haven’t even packed yet.”

“I’m aware, Sam.”

“Are you?  It’s going to take longer than you think.  And remember you get to pack a bag full of any specialty ingredients you don’t think they’ll have there.”

“I know, Sam, I read the rules.”

“Okay.  I’m just worried—“

“Jesus Christ!  Why are **you** worried?  You’re not going!  You’re not competing!”

All the piss and vinegar drained out of him as he realized he was being a complete ass to his brother.  Sam didn’t seem particularly perturbed by Dean’s behavior.

“You’re right.  Just do what you need to do and let me know if I can help.”

Dean sighed.  He didn’t want to apologize; he hated apologizing.  But Sam hadn’t done anything more than remind him of what he already knew he was putting off.  Before he could speak though, Sam beat him to it.

“Dean, don’t worry about it.  This has got to be nerve-wracking for you.  I’ll excuse a temper tantrum or two.”

“I’m not throwing a temper tantrum!” Dean shouted.

Sam put his hands in the air in mock surrender.  Then he reached into his pocket when his cell phone rang.  The smile on face when he saw the display let Dean know it was Tracy.  Sam excused himself and wandered off to a quieter section of the restaurant.  Dean leaned his arms on the bar and allowed his head to fall onto them in defeat.  How was it that he had spent almost a month with a guy, had sex with him, opened up to him about his past, and had admitted (at least to himself) that he was in love with him, and yet his brother was the one who had come out of the competition with a new significant other he’d only had a few Skype chats with?  He was so pathetic.

He was so pathetic he also had no clue what was actually going on with Sam and Tracy.  They’d spent half a day of Sam’s and Dean’s brother bonding vacay with her and then she’d gone home, but Dean was pretty sure they talked via phone or e-mail at least once a day.  They were definitely enjoying each other’s company but whether it was just something fun to do or they were really trying to make things work was not something Dean had bothered to find out.  So, not only was he pathetic, he was also an asshole.

“Hey, Dean,” Ellen said as she moved to stand next to him at the bar.  “It’s winding down pretty fast now.  Jo and I can handle it from here if you want to head on home and get ready.”

“I don’t know.  It’s still pretty early.  You could get a rush.”

“At 8:30 on a Wednesday night?  I doubt it.  But if we do we can handle it.  Or I can ask Ash for some help.”

Dean glanced over to the remnants of the original Roadhouse: a small area with a dartboard, a pool table, and a hunting video game machine.  Ash had already crawled up onto the green felt and seemed dead to the world.  If it weren’t for the fact that Ash had saved his ass more than once with the accounting and taxes for the restaurant, he would’ve been a little stricter about what hours the alcohol-soaked genius could use the Roadhouse for nap time.  But only a little.  The guy was pretty cool anyway.

“Looks like he’d be a big help.”

“Aw, he’s just playing possum.  He’ll get up if I asked him too.”

Dean smiled at her.  He couldn’t imagine Ellen needing to **ask** anyone to do anything; one stern look was enough to get two hundred fifty pound bikers on their feet and out the door mumbling apologies.

“Go on, get out of here.  And have fun, alright?  I know it’s a competition, but remember that cooking is something you love, not a chore to get through to win some money.”

“Okay.  Though I wouldn’t say I **love** cooking.”

“Don’t contradict me, boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dean swung by the kitchen to make sure Jo and the line cook had everything under control.  The petite blonde crushed him in a good luck hug and he promised to try to talk about her on TV in some way.  He smiled, wondering what she would think when she found out that he had passed the first preliminary round by making the very sandwich he’d created to piss her off.  Maybe she would finally stop complaining that he put cilantro in “fucking **everything**.”

When he got home he threw his cleanest pairs of jeans and T-shirts in a duffle bag and crammed in swimming trunks just in case.  A few toiletries later and he figured he was done packing.  The other bag he was taking was much more carefully packed and organized.  He’d spent the last couple of weeks procuring any and everything he might need as a secret ingredient and had quite the collection.  There were quite a few bottles of liquids, so he was going to have to check the bag.  It seemed a little ridiculous to have separate luggage just for hot sauce, but then, it could potentially be a quarter million dollar hot sauce if he won the grand prize.  If any of the ingredients in his bag helped him win, he’d fly it back home first class.

Once Dean was certain his bags were ready and he’d triple checked his passport and flight information papers and placed them on the counter under a heavy bowl, he decided to go ahead and turn in early.  A bad decision.  He was too excited (and scared of the flying bit) to sleep.  He tossed and turned and kicked the covers off in frustration.  It was still in the high eighties even at night as Texas was hit with an August heat wave.  His air conditioning was doing the best it could, but he really needed a place with central air.  He needed something to distract himself with.  Anything other than the competition or flying.  There was his impending reunion with Cas.

Dean groaned.  That certainly wasn’t going to settle him down.  But maybe this would be a good time to come up with something to say.  Should he apologize for his odd behavior?  Joke about it?  Or should he just pretend like nothing weird had happened between them and greet him with a kiss?

Dean smiled at the thought of kissing Cas.  He remembered what the man felt, smelled, and tasted like vividly.  His memories hadn’t faded a bit with time or distance and his whole body thrummed with the anticipation of seeing him again.  He remembered their last night together.  There had been no games or teasing or exotic positions; they had simply grasped at each other and kissed and rocked together until they had come gasping each other’s names.

Dean ran his hands through his hair, trying to ignore the warm pulse of arousal in his groin at the memories.  They only got more intense as his memory took him back through every moment they’d had together.  Before he knew it his hand had slipped beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs.  He pushed the clinging fabric off impatiently, barely getting it to his thighs before he allowed himself to indulge in fantasy and memory.  It was a little disappointing not having the real thing, but the rush of endorphins helped lull him into a contented sleep.

***

Dean could see a camera crew waiting for him on the other side of customs.  He took a moment to compose himself.  The plane had nearly crashed when they’d landed no matter what the crazy lady next to him thought when she'd commented to her traveling companion that they’d had an exceptionally smooth landing.

After a few minutes he realized the jangling of his nerves wasn’t just from the landing and it wasn’t going to go away any time soon.  With one last internal pep talk, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Sam’s, he walked around the corner of the tiny airport and entered the lines to head through customs.  Jerry and two guys Dean had never seen before greeted him and helped him collect his checked bag and find his way to the car they had waiting for him.  Supposedly the car would take them over the bridge from Nassau to Paradise Island where the Atlantis Resort was located, but Dean had his doubts it would be that simple.  He'd made a point to watch the previous eight finale episodes, and with the exception of the first season, the two finalists were always surprised with a Warm Up Challenge before they even made it to the hotel to drop off their suitcases.

Dean’s suspicions were confirmed as they drove past the colorful towers of the Atlantis resort and down to a dock at the end of the island.  He could see another camera crew already there and he spotted Bela talking to someone.  Then Bela leaned to the side and Dean saw who that someone was.  He almost whimpered out loud when he saw Cas wearing blue shorts and a white T-shirt, his tanned arms crossed over his chest accentuating the hard muscles of both, and his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses while the wind ruffled his hair.  God, he had missed him.  It was a shame their first meeting in two months would have an audience, but Dean didn’t think it would matter.

He got out of the car and was trailed by his camera crew up onto the dock.  He smiled when he made eye contact with Cas; at least, he assumed they made eye contact, he still had his shades on.  But the man didn’t smile back or remove the sunglasses.  Dean felt uneasy at once.  Bela turned when she heard the clomping wooden sounds of the small group’s feet on the dock.

“Dean!  Welcome to The Bahamas.  Was your flight alright?”

“Uh, yeah.  Apparently we had an exceptionally smooth landing.”

“Glad to hear it.  We were waiting for your arrival because we’re about to set off for your final Warm Up Challenge.  I hope neither of you get seasick!”

Bela started up the gangway of a large luxury fishing boat and Dean stood to one side of the entryway and Cas stood on the other.  He finally removed his shades and Dean was afraid he would see cool indifference or contempt in his eyes, but he actually looked just as unsure as Dean felt.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.”

Dean stared at Cas who had a backdrop of tropical blue skies and sparkling clear blue ocean behind him.  His eyes put both to shame.

Cas opened his mouth to speak, but Bela called to them from onboard the ship.  Dean used his hand to indicate Cas should go first.  He did so without a word.  Dean started to follow him and glanced over and saw Jerry giving him a confused look and a hand raised in question.  Dean scowled and faced forward.  He didn’t need some pervy cameraman wondering why he hadn’t grabbed his—boyfriend, technically, the last time he checked—and tonguing the crap out of him.

Dean and Cas met Bela at the bow and Dean could feel the whole boat shudder as the engine roared to life.  Apparently they were going out to sea right now.  Bela waited for the cameras to get in place and the go ahead from the producers before she began explaining.  The boat began to pull out of the slip.

“Now, Cas and Dean, I’d like to reiterate congratulations on making it this far.  You both earned it and I can’t wait to be wowed at Final Service.  For now though, we’ve got a little treat for you.  We know this competition can be stressful, so we thought what better way to ease back into it than with a relaxing fishing trip?”

Dean dropped his head with a small laugh.  “Oh, no,” he murmured.  He noticed Cas’ confused head tilt.  Apparently he hadn’t figured out what Dean already had.

“We’re heading to a private island and it will take us about an hour to get there.  So, you’ll have one hour to catch the fish you’ll be preparing when we get there.”

Cas’ jaw dropped.  Now he got it.

“And don’t worry; if you’re unable to catch anything, we have some nice frozen seafood you can use.  There will also be a limited selection of produce and seasoning as well as a pan and a one burner camping stove that you can use for cooking.  You’ll have an hour to prepare your dish and I promise you it will be worth it.  The winner of this challenge will receive the right to pick the theme of one of the courses in the finale, and… _twenty-five_ **thousand** dollars provided by Kerzner International Limited, owner of the Atlantis Paradise Island Resort.”

Dean was stunned and he was sure his face showed it.  No cash prize other than the grand prize of course had ever been worth that much.  He was still reeling from discovering that the motor boat he’d won cost over forty grand.  He was really going to have to learn how to drive the thing.

“So, chefs, or should I say fishermen, at the stern you’ll find some gear ready for you.  Good luck!”

Dean and Cas looked at each other and then bolted around the side of the boat to get to the back.  The boat leaned to one side and they collided with the cabin and each other.  Laughing they helped steady each other and got to the back of the boat without another mishap.  They were infinitely relieved to find two locals available to help them with baiting the hooks and getting the poles set up in the braces attached to the back of the boat.  After the first initial moments of excitement had passed and their hooks were trolling the water, they hung over the side watching the lines where they disappeared into the gently churning water created by the engines.

“You think that will scare them off?” Cas asked after a couple minutes of nothing but the rumbling engines and sloshing water to fill the silence.

“I think the hooks are far enough down and out that it shouldn’t be an issue.  Unless the challenge is really to pick out frozen shrimp from an ice block with nothing but our shoes and teeth.”

Cas laughed.  “With these people, I’m not ruling that out yet.”

Dean smiled and looked up.  All around them they were surrounded by the impossibly clear blue water of the Caribbean Sea.  Only one or two fluffy white clouds marred the otherwise perfect blue sky.  The air was warm, but not hot or humid.  Their hair was ruffling in the breeze generated by their speed.  If it weren’t for the seven people standing behind them and watching and filming them, it would be perfect.

“So, you think this going to take awhile?” Cas asked plaintively.

“It might.  You wanna sit?”

Cas nodded and they hopped up into the tall chairs that had been bolted to the deck of the boat.  Dean propped his feet up on the railing next to his fishing pole and leaned back with his hands behind his head.  The boat hit a wave and bounced.  Dean grinned.  This was awesome.

Thirty minutes later Dean had almost dozed off when he heard Cas shout.  He sat up, startled, and the first thing he noticed was that his face felt a little warm.  Great.  He was probably sunburned.  Cas was holding onto his fishing pole and squealing (“asking excitedly” Cas later clarified) for help from their fishing guides.  Dean walked over and watched him struggle with the line and try to reel in what appeared to be a pretty substantial fish.  With the help of one of the locals, Myron, Cas reeled the great beast in.  It was a four pound yellowtail snapper.

Dean laughed at the tiny little thing and asked if they were even allowed to take one that small.  Cas frowned at him while the fish was measured.  It easily met the minimum length requirement, but there really wasn’t much to it.  Though it was a high quality fish.

“You better throw that one back, Cas.”

“No way.  I’m keeping it.  And we’ll see who’s laughing when I have something to cook and you’re digging ice burned, grey fish out with your shoe.”

Dean laughed and then wondered why Cas wasn’t sunburned.  Maybe he had suntan lotion squirreled away somewhere.  While Cas was re-baiting his hook, Dean was able to procure some sun screen from the producers.  Just as he was rubbing in the last bit on the back of his neck, his line went taut.  He ran over to the fishing pole and began working on pulling his catch in, Raoul, his local expert, was right beside him and giving him tips.  Dean fought with the line for a good ten minutes before Raoul used a net to scoop up his catch.  Cas gaped at the beautiful red grouper Dean had snagged.  It was almost two feet long and had to be about twenty or twenty-five pounds.

Cas looked at his tiny snapper.

“So, we only have to serve one judge, right?” Cas called out to the onboard producer.  The producer grinned at him and shook her head.  Cas scuffed his toe on the deck with a muttered curse.  Then his line went taut again.  With considerably less squealing (excited questioning) than last time, Cas and Myron worked on pulling in the fish.  Dean leaned over the side of the boat and saw what might be a young black grouper on the line.  Those things could get monstrously big, but this one appeared to be about the size of the red grouper Dean had caught.  While Myron retrieved the net, Dean saw Cas still reeling.

“Hey, Cas, you need to stop reeling.  That thing is way too heavy to get above the water.  It’ll snap the—“ he cut off as the line snapped and the fish disappeared.  “—line,” Dean finished.

The look of dismay and utter betrayal on Cas’ face was adorable.  Myron came back with the net and peeked over the side.  He gave Cas’ back a consoling pat.  They didn’t have time to re-bait the line before the boat was slowing and dropping anchor about fifteen feet from the beach of the private island.  It was amazing how deep the water was so close to shore.  They used a small inflatable life boat to get from the fishing boat to the beach, and it took quite some time to ferry the show’s crew over.  Dean hoped the ice covering his fish would stand up to the wait.  Makeshift tables and baskets were set up to display the produce and available cooking items which were quite impressive, but it must have been sitting out for some time.  Most of the items would be fine, but some of the greens had wilted in the moderate heat.

By the time everything was set up for filming, Dean and Cas had been reacquainted with Crowley, Gabriel, and Naomi, and found out that Raoul and Myron would be guest judges on the challenge as they were quite familiar with Bahamian cooking.

“How did the fishing go?” Bela asked for the cameras even though they had already discussed their catches with her and the judges.

“Great,” Dean said while Cas said, “Alright.”

“Well, if you were disappointed with your haul or want to add some more variety, we do have some scallops and shrimp and tilapia filets over there.”

They both looked at the large block of ice melting on a low table with two ice picks sticking out of it.  Dean could not be happier with his catch; frozen tilapia?  He’d sooner serve road kill.

“Or, your other option is the ocean floor.  Right behind you, the cove is quite literally crawling with all kinds of local favorites including conch, spiny lobster, and stone crab.  We have some snorkel gear available to you and you can use as much as you can catch.”

Dean made a face.  He was not diving for any sea critters.  He could make a dish out of his grouper.

“You have one hour to prepare your dish.  And chefs?  Careful with the sand, hmm?  Your time starts now.”

Dean dashed for his cooler and dragged it nearer the produce setup.  He moved some mangos and bananas down into a basket filled with citrus fruits and used the plywood on the overturned crate to create a stable surface on top of his cooler.  He had to start breaking the grouper down and get it cleaned as fast as possible.  Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Cas by the water.  He turned his head and saw Cas shucking his shorts, already shirtless.  Dean went still, forgetting how to human as he watched Cas pull on a pair of swim trunks over his underwear and grabbed a snorkeling mask.  Dean was mesmerized by the muscles on his back as his arms raised to put the mask on.  Then he was splashing into the water.  Dean shook himself and returned to his fish.

The cleaning went better than he could have hoped; the filets came out thick and clean.  He was in the process of double checking for bones when he heard Cas splashing out of the water.  Dean looked over his shoulder and was surprised and impressed to see the man carrying a large conch shell in one hand a clawless spiny lobster in the other.

  

Dean couldn’t believe he had fished both of those out in less than ten minutes.  They must have staged the “free-range” animals so they would be easily accessible to the contestants if they chose that route.  He wondered if he should give it a try, but decided to stay dry and shouted out, “Showoff!”

Cas laughed and replied, “Don't be jealous!”

Dean rolled his eyes, but did watch as Cas took a moment to dry off his shoulders and arms, but allowed his legs to get covered in sand as he dashed around the mini set, gathering other ingredients.  Dean felt a little bad for him; that wasn’t going to be comfortable to deal with.  Though it only seemed fair that he have the sandy distraction since he didn’t bother to put a shirt back on and made it very difficult for Dean to concentrate.

At one point he heard the judges shout out with exaggerated alarm.  Dean glanced up and saw that Cas had simply smashed the conch shell with a meat tenderizing mallet.

“Sorry,” he called out.  “I don’t have time to do this delicately.”

Cooking on the camping stove was less than ideal and he now understood Bela’s warning about the sand.  He kept finding it on his work station and he had to be careful to clean it off or in one case restart a component.  He couldn’t serve sandy food to the judges.  The time flew by even faster than usual.  Dean was just grateful they only had to prepare two plates for the all the judges to sample from.  This was the first time all of the judges would be tasting a Warm Up Challenge dish.  In theory it was meant to be independent of the final challenge, but if something was particular good or bad, the bias might carry over.

“Hello, Dean, what have you prepared for us?” Bela asked.

“Well, I caught a beautiful red grouper and I decided to highlight that with some Bahamian flavors.  I seasoned it with lime juice, red pepper flakes, and a little salt and pepper.  Then I cut up some tomatoes and onions and a little mango for a touch of sweetness to make a salsa.  I wrapped it in tinfoil and put that on the fire to try to simulate baking.  I served them with a side of johnnycakes—and while they may not be the prettiest you’ve had, I guarantee the flavor is there.”

  

The judges took turns taking a bite and Dean watched them carefully for reactions.

“I like the flavors you used on the fish,” Crowley said.  “It’s simple, but still packs a punch.”

“It’s tasty, but maybe it’s a little too simple,” Gabriel commented.

“Also, the fish is just slightly underdone,” Naomi said.  “It’s cooked, but could have used just a bit longer on the heat to firm it up just a bit more.”

Dean shifted his weight.  It drove him nuts when the judges made comments like that.  They were the ones who put time limits on these stupid challenges in the first place.

“I don’t know if I’m getting the johnnycake,” Bela said.  “It just takes like dense cornbread.”

Dean didn’t have a response for her—that’s all johnnycakes were.  Fortunately Myron and Raoul came to his rescue saying that johnnycakes were a classic Bahamian side and they thought Dean’s were well made.

Dean risked a glance in Cas’ direction as the judges moved on to him.  Fortunately, and sadly, he had donned his shirt again.

“Cas, tell us what you’ve made,” Bela prompted.

Dean wondered if she hated saying it as often as they heard it.  He assumed she had to do it for almost every dish since there was no telling how the show would be edited together in the end.

“I made for you a trio of appetizers.  First is a crudo of yellowtail snapper with a lemon and caper sauce.  Next is a conch salad.  I marinated the conch in lime juice and a little coconut milk for about thirty minutes, and then I mixed it with chopped tomato, onion, a little Scotch bonnet pepper, cilantro and more lime juice.  Last I have lobster cakes seasoned with a little allspice and curry to give it uniquely Bahamian flavor.  Enjoy.”

    

Myron laughed.  "You know we don't put those two spices **together** , right?"

Cas smiled.  "Give it a try."

The judges broke up the appetizers into bite size pieces and made approving faces and noises as they ate.  Dean leaned slightly toward Cas and talked out of the side of his mouth.

"You had to make three different things?"

"It's what showoffs do," Cas replied in the same manner.

Dean straightened and rolled his lips in to keep from grinning.  Lost in the memories of soft skin and heated whispers, Dean had forgotten what a snarky little shit Cas could be.  Maybe all they needed was to remember what they'd had and they could forget all about Dean's bonehead handshake, and in all fairness, Cas' brainless acceptance of said handshake.

"Mm, I like this crudo," Gabriel said.  "It's like snapper picata."  He laughed and then glanced around as no one else did.

"The lobster cakes do leave a lot to be desired presentation wise," Naomi said, "but you're right about the curry and allspice.  It's different, and it's very good."

“The conch salad is my favorite of the bunch," Crowley said.  "It's light, refreshing...raw salads like this tend to be either over or under seasoned.  But you have definitely hit a nice balance."

Myron and Raoul had trouble sharing their comments as they were busy cleaning off the plates.  Dean crossed his arms.  It wasn't really going to be a surprise who won this one.

"Myron and Raoul," Bela said, "tell us which fresh fish dish you liked the best."

The two men conferred quickly in what didn't sound quite like English.  It was a quick conference and they turned back to look at the two chefs.

"Both were really good," Raoul said.  "I was very pleased with what you did with that red grouper, Dean.  I eat a lot of grouper, and I was concerned about what an American chef might do to it, but I was very impressed."

"However," Myron said smugly, "Cas' variety and flavors and techniques are just too good.  You win, Cas!"

Cas laughed as Myron hugged him.  He patted him on the back and thanked him.  Dean was convinced that Cas must have been sweet talking the guy while he'd been napping on the boat.  Whatever.

"Congratulations, Castiel," Bela.  "You've just won twenty-five thousand dollars!"

Cas exhaled shakily.  "I could use it too."

"And you've also won an advantage for Final Service.  We have themes for the other six rounds, and we'd like you to pick one.  Chefs in the past have gone with their specialty," she added with a faux-conspiratorial wink.

Cas smiled and glanced over at Dean.  Dean tilted his head at him challengingly.  Cas faced the judges again.

"I think I would like a round of soufflés."

The judges chuckled and Dean closed his eyes with a defeated sigh.

 This is payback for those stupid soufflés I did **not** sabotage.  I know it.

 This is payback for the soufflés he sabotaged.

“Well, Final Service will surely be an adventure.  Enjoy your time at the Atlantis Resort today, chefs.  Because tomorrow we get down to it.”

“Cut!”

Crew scuttled out from their hiding places and began packing up the equipment and produce and crates and other flotsam they had brought to the island.  The three judges and Bela were escorted onto a wooden boat to be taken over to a large, luxury yacht that had been anchored further out from the shore than the boat they had come in on.  A producer walked up to Dean and Cas.

“Okay, you guys must be exhausted.  We’re going to head back to Paradise Island now but there’s one more thing we’ll need to do before we can cut you loose.  You’ll meet separately with Lenore and she’ll fill you in on what the seven courses will be and the other requirements for the round.  When Bela tells you again tomorrow, we ask that you show appropriate reactions as if you are hearing it for the first time.

“The reason is because we’ll need you to plan your dishes tonight so that Lenore and her team can procure all the ingredients you’ll need.  The markets here don’t have as much variety as we’d have access to at a Super Foods, but we’ve brought proteins and produce that should cover just about anything you’ll need.  However, it may be impossible for us to get some items, so you’ll need to provide alternatives for most of your ingredients.  We hope you took advantage of packing your own specialty ingredients from home because some of the spices you’re used to aren’t here.  As well as any substances you’d need for molecular gastronomy techniques.

“After you’re done with Lenore you have the rest of the night off.  You can eat at any of the restaurants in any of the towers and charge them back to the room, and of course you can get room service.  The room is a two bedroom suite, by the way, and Martin has the keys which he’ll give to you when you get back to the resort.  You have a call time of four o’clock tomorrow—“

Neither Dean nor Cas could repress their disbelieving gasps.

“In the afternoon!” the producer quickly clarified.

They sighed in unreserved relief.

“So, you’ll probably need to be ready to leave the room at 3:30, and you’re free all day until then.  You can go to the pools or the aquariums or the water slides if it floats your boat.  Just make sure you’re ready to go by 3:30 and you can go wherever you like.  Though I would advise you to stay on Paradise Island as we don’t want something to go wrong and have you get stuck on Nassau.

“After we film Bela telling you about the challenge, we’ll do some filming of you planning the courses with your sous chefs.  They actually got in today, but are staying on Nassau until tomorrow.  After the planning, you’ll be able to go through the ingredients Lenore and her team got for you.  If something has changed from your original plan, we may need to re-film a few more clips of you discussing the alternate dishes.  From there you’ll have four hours of prep, and the cameras will be around as usual.  After the prep time, or at the end of it if you finish ahead of time, you’ll need to do a confessional, of course.  And then you’ll go back to the suite.  It should be after ten by the time filming finishes, so we’re strongly encouraging you to stay in for the night and get some sleep.”

The producer leveled a look on them and Dean correctly assumed they were actually being told to stay in and not cause trouble the night before the competition.

“The day of service has a call time of three o’clock.  You’ll have two initial hours of further prep and cooking and when the timer goes off, the first dish must go out.  Then you’ll have an additional twenty minutes starting after you return to the kitchen for the second dish, and so on until all seven are served.  You’ll be serving at the same time of course, and we would prefer you to make tasting portions of each dish.  You’ll need to make eight servings for every dish.  Four for the judges and Bela, three for our guest judges, and one for the camera.  And then there will be judging, which can take up to several hours.  No matter how late it runs, we will film the reveal that night.  After that we’ll need to do another confessional, and then you’ll finally be free of us.  For the most part.  The suite is paid for through the end of the week, and we invite you stay for the duration if you like.  Do you have any questions right now?”

Dean and Cas looked at each other and back at the producer.  Dean was certain they had a ton of questions they were currently blanking on, but they shook their heads dumbly.

“Excellent!  Myron and Raoul will take you back to the boat you came in on and they’ll take you back to Paradise Island.  We’ll have a driver waiting for you at the dock and he’ll drop you off at the Coral Towers and Lenore will meet you in the lobby.  Good luck.”

Dean and Cas murmured thanks and then were ferried back to their boat on the inflatable life boat.  They decided to sit in the tall fishing chairs at the back of the boat again, both propping their feet on the railing and enjoying the early evening sun painting the blue ocean a pleasant orange.  They were moving much faster this time around and the roar of the engines was too loud to speak over, so they just took in the experience.  It only took half an hour to reach Paradise Island on the way back, and then it was a quick ten minute drive to the Coral Towers.  Lenore greeted them with a shy smile.  She was pretty and friendly; she had been one of Dean’s favorite producers to work with throughout the competition.  But she was vegan or some such nonsense and just had a constant look about her of being underfed and malnourished.

She led them both into a small conference room and explained the seven courses they would need to prepare and the requirements that needed to be fulfilled in some way.  It wasn’t a worst case scenario, but it certainly could be easier.  But then, he supposed if it were easier it wouldn’t be worthy of being the final challenge.

After Lenore was done explaining, Dean was taken to a separate room so they could both plan individually.  Lenore went back and forth between the rooms, discussing their ingredients and offering ideas for alternatives in case they couldn’t accommodate the chefs.  Dean only had one item that he wouldn’t be able to get, and it was easily swapped out for something else.  When they were done, they were loaded into a golf cart and driven across the complex to The Reef.  Martin met them in the lobby and gave them each a card key to a two bedroom penthouse suite.  Even as tired as they were, excitement about seeing the room gave them a surge of energy and they bounced on the balls of their feet as the elevator went up and up and up.  Finally they got a key in the door and walked into their competition residence.  The excitement had not been unfounded.

“Not too shabby,” Dean said.

“Certainly better accommodations than twin beds,” Cas commented.

“Holy crap!  This bathroom is as big as my apartment, I swear.”

Cas laughed.  “This one’s pretty sweet too.  But how about that view?”

They walked over to the balcony and stood spellbound for a moment.

“Doesn’t look like this balcony has a wrap around,” Dean commented casually, wondering how Cas would take his implication.

“Well, we probably don’t need one here,” Cas replied.

And…shot down.  Dean cleared his throat and walked away.  Their luggage was sitting the middle of the living room, so Dean picked up his two bags and carried them into the bedroom on the left which contained the bathroom that had impressed him the most.  If he was going to be miserable, he might as well have the best room.

He’d only just flopped his suitcase onto the stand in the closet when he heard the main door opening.  Was Cas leaving?  Sure they were told they could eat dinner anywhere they liked, but was he not going to tell him he was leaving even if he didn’t want company?  He thought they’d gotten on fine this afternoon.  At least they could be friendly to each other, right?  Dean left his bedroom, not sure what he would do if he caught him before he was completely out the door.  Across the living room at the entrance to the other bedroom he saw Cas—looking like he was rushing to the door too.  They looked at each other and then took a couple of steps into the room to see the front door as they now heard voices talking and something heavy banging the wall.

Jerry and his crew were struggling into the room.  Dean’s heart sank with a disappointment.  He wasn’t sure why he was expecting that they would be left alone for this round.  Jerry spotted them both and threw his hands in the air.

“They weren’t supposed to let you up until we were in place!  Okay, you’re going to have to go out and come back in and look surprised and excited and run around like you when you got here.”

“We didn’t run around all excited,” Cas lied, and he tossed a wink in Dean’s direction.

“Yeah, we kind of made faces.  I mean, we were expecting a little bit better digs, you know?”

“Shut up and get out in the hallway.  We’ll let you know when to come in.”

Dean and Cas stood still, not sure if he was being serious.  Then he looked up at them and waved them toward the door with exasperation as the cameras were being unpacked.  They hung their heads and trudged out into the hallway.

“Davis!” Jerry yelled.  “Get the microphone packs out!”

The door shut and they were left in the relative peace of the hallway.  They were quiet a few moments, and then Cas said, “Guess we could use that wrap around after all.”

Dean’s head whipped to him.  Did he mean what he thought he meant?  Maybe when Cas had said they wouldn’t need privacy on the balcony wasn’t because he wasn’t interested in doing anything they would need privacy for, but because they had the privacy of the whole suite.  Dean’s heart thudded a little harder at the thought that maybe Cas hadn’t totally dismissed him.  He was about to open his mouth to say—something—when the door to the penthouse opened.  Davis came out with a smile, showing off the microphone packs.  Dean frowned.  He really thought he was through with being assaulted because of that PA’s lack of depth perception.  Then Dean noticed he didn’t have the same trouble clipping the battery pack onto Cas.  Why did he always attract the pervs?

After they appeased Jerry’s desire to see them enthusiastically explore the suite again, they ordered room service and showered while they waited for dinner’s arrival.  They ate at the dining room table and the clinking of silverware on plates was only interrupted by the occasional comment on the food.  When the dishes were back in the hall for pick-up, they stood awkwardly in the living room.

Then while hooking a thumb over his shoulder Cas said, “I’m just going to…” as Dean said, “So, it’s been a long day…”

They nodded to each other and started going to their bedrooms.

“Oh you’re joking, right?” Jerry shouted at them.  “Get back in here!  If I don’t get some footage from tonight the producers are going to kill me.”

“Like what?” Dean asked with a stony expression.  “It’s late and we’re tired.  Why can’t we go to bed?”

“Just, sit on the couch and talk for like twenty minutes.  Give me something!  Like, what you did for the last two months.  How you like the resort.  What you thought of the Warm Up Challenge, what you’re expecting in the final round—but don’t give away that you already know.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Cas said, “Okay,” and walked over to the loveseat.  Dean figured there was no use in putting up a stink, so he walked over and took a seat on the couch.  Jerry sighed, but didn’t comment on their choice of seating arrangements.  The two cameras set up so that one was trained on each of their faces, and then everyone was quiet.

“This is when you would start talking,” Jerry said wryly.

Dean looked at Cas and put a hand out, but then couldn’t think of anything to say.  At least, nothing he wanted to say in front of the cameras.

“So, how was the Roadhouse when you got back?” Cas asked.

“The Roadhouse?”

Cas’ lips quirked up.  “That is the name of your restaurant, right?”

“Oh, yes.  Well, it’s not mine.  It’s Ellen’s.  And they were fine without me.  They don’t really need me.”

“I’m sure,” Cas said dryly.

“No, really.  It’s just a sandwich and burger joint really.”

“Sandwiches that got you onto the show and burgers that won an Elimination Challenge.”

Dean blushed slightly and he shrugged, trying to look nonchalant.  “That was just, you know, well.  I mean, there’s nothing at the Roadhouse that requires my personal expertise.  We’re all good there.”

“Maybe that means staying there is holding you back.  If you win, maybe you should try to open your own restaurant.”

Dean shook his head vigorously.  “No way.  That’s way too risky.  Like eighty percent of all new restaurants fail in the first five years.”

“Well, that means twenty percent make it.”

“It’s a lot of work.”

“Yes, yes, it is,” Cas agreed

“See, you did it.  Would you ever want to try again?”

Cas made a face.

“See?”

“I didn’t say no.  Just, it would really have to be worth it to go through it all again.”

“Speaking of, how did Salvation do without its head chef for a month?”

“Well, I made a plan before I left.  We’re already dark on Mondays, but I knew I’d have to throw in another closed day and shorten the hours on weekdays.  But the weekends definitely stayed open the regular hours.  I planned it so that I should break even.”

Dean smiled.  “And did you?”

“I lost twelve thousand dollars in one month!” he wailed softly.

Dean laughed.  “Well, I don’t feel too bad for you.  You made that back twice over this afternoon.”

Cas grinned.  “I totally did.  Not bad for a couple hours worth of work.”

“Whatever.  You totally cheated.”

“What?!”  Cas threw a pillow at him, which he deflected with a hand.  “How did I cheat?”

“You served three things!”

“Need I remind you that I **earned** those three things?”

“How deep was that water?”

“Mm, about ten or twelve feet.  Not bad.  And everything was kind of bunched up together.  They must have somehow planted it all there.”

“I figured as much.  Did the lobster hurt your hand?”

“Nah.  I got it by the tail and since she didn’t have claws, it was all good.”

“Hm.”

Awkward silence fell again.  Damn, they used to be able to sit in silence for hours and not be bothered by it in the slightest.  Maybe he should say something even with the cameras around.  Heck, they’d definitely done much worse than talk about an awkward goodbye with each other with cameras in the room before.  Then Dean wondered why Cas wasn’t saying anything.  Okay, so maybe Dean had been the one who kind of sort of initiated the awkwardness, but Cas could try to do something to mitigate it.  Maybe he didn’t want to though.  Maybe he’d met someone in the intervening two months.

“So,” Cas broke into his thoughts.  “Anything interesting happen since we left Miami?”  He opened his mouth again, seemed to think better of it, and sat back to wait for an answer.

“Um.”  He wondered if he should make something up for the cameras.  Literally, nothing had happened because he couldn’t talk about the competition back home, and his life was boring.  “Oh!  This is so weird.  So, remember I told you that Tracy and my brother had been Skyping while we were all still in Miami?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, they stayed in contact.  And he visited her once in San Diego and she’s making plans to come see him.  They’re like, dating, or something.”

“That’s great,” Cas said.

“Is it?”

Cas’ happy expression faded.  “You’re not into long term things?” he asked with a little ice in his voice.

“No.  I mean, no, not that.  Just like, it seems weird because they…barely know each other and don’t live near each other and met under…unusual circumstances.”

Cas looked away and Dean realized he must think he was talking about them, and that’s why Dean had ended things between them.  Which, he totally hadn’t.

“What I mean is,” Dean said a little loudly, causing Cas to look up at him, “is that Sam’s acting different with her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t know.  I guess I think the distance is a good thing because it’s forcing them to move slow and keep things casual.  Sam—“ Dean sighed.  Did he want to air his brother’s dirty laundry out again?  This time in front of the cameras?  “Sammy doesn’t have the best luck when it comes to dating.  He goes months, even years without really trying to date anyone, but then when he does find someone he rushes into it and things get way too intense way too fast and it just always ends badly.  I think he’s still a little messed up over Jess.”

“Who’s Jess?”

“She was his girlfriend in college.  They were pretty serious, dated for three years.  When Sam was a junior and she was a senior—she was mugged outside a convenience store one night and then shot dead in the parking lot.”

Cas gasped softly.  “Oh, God.”

“Yeah.”  Dean shook his head with a humorless laugh.  “Almost the same way our mother was killed.  Though my mother’s was a bit more targeted—but that’s not important.  Thing is, I’m not sure Sam really ever got over it, and so dating has never been a recommended activity for him.”

“Dean, I’m so sorry.  For his losses.  For yours.  Your family has suffered way more than its fair share of tragedy.”

Dean shrugged.  “It was all a long time ago.”

“Only five or six years I would think.”

“Well, yeah,” Dean said softly.  “Almost six since Jess.  But, all the other crap: ancient history.”

Cas pursed his lips, but Dean didn’t want to keep talking about it.  He cut Cas’ next sentence off with, “Man!  My face hurts.”  He touched his forehead lightly and it felt a little sensitive.  “I think I got sunburned on the boat.”

Cas looked at him and Dean knew the guy wasn’t an idiot.  But he relaxed his features and allowed Dean to change the subject.

“I have some aloe vera, if you’d like some?”

“No, that’s not—actually, yeah, that would be awesome.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Cas stood up from the loveseat and disappeared into his bedroom.  Dean looked at Jerry.

“Hey, look, Jerry, I know we sign our lives away for this and everything we say can be used on TV.  But, maybe the stuff about my brother…can you…or maybe I need to ask the producers…”

“Don’t worry,” Jerry said.  “That conversation was a little too dark even if they wanted some serious moments.  This is the finale in The Bahamas.  I think they’re looking for something a little more lighthearted.  Like, seriously, why aren’t you two doing it in the Jacuzzi tub by now?”

“Jerry!”

“What did I miss?  When you guys left the condo you were all heart eyes and wedding bells.”

Dean’s face was feeling hot from more than just the sunburn.  He saw Cas returning and shushed Jerry.  Cas was holding a white tube and sat down on the couch near, but not next to, Dean.

“What’s that?”

“Aloe.”

“I thought it looked like green jelly.”

“Yeah, that cheap crap.  This is the real deal.  Which is why I’m not going to let you handle it.  You don’t know how to handle tubes.”

“Hey, that wasabi paste was spring loaded.”

“Mm-hmm.  Here.”  Cas held out the tube and Dean put out a hand to receive a small dollop of the white cream.  He rubbed it on his face and instantly his skin felt soothed.  He swiped a bit on the back of his neck too.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” Cas said.  “You probably won’t even peel.  Oh, you’ve missed some…there.”

“Where?”  Dean tried to mirror Cas’ hand placement on his own face.

“No, down.”

“Here?”

“No.”  Cas scooted forward and reached out with a hand to smooth a bit of the cream over his cheekbone.  His hand wound up gently cupping Dean’s face and they looked each other.  The air crackled with tension and longing and then one of the crew made a little gulping noise.  They pulled apart.  The tension snapped and the crew actually deflated slightly.

“So, I’m really tired,” Cas said.  “I think I need to get some sleep.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Um, since we have some free time tomorrow, I was going to go to the pool or the beach.  Or just walk around the grounds and see the aquariums.  Apparently there’s one you can walk inside like a tunnel or something.  Um.  Would you want to come with me?”

“Will we have to get up early?  I kind of wanted to sleep in.”

“Well, not too early.  I just thought it might help us take our minds off the competition for a little while.”

“Being unconscious would accomplish that even better.  Plus, we’ll have almost a week free after the last challenge to enjoy the place.”

“I don’t know.  One of us may not feel like it after the results.”

Dean shook his head.  “Dude, if I lose…I am totally staying here until they kick me out and cleaning out the mini fridge.”

Cas laughed.  “Valid point.  Well, I’m going to go out.  If you change your mind, I’m probably going to leave around nine.”

“Okay.”

“Good night, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.”

***

Dean exited his bedroom with a loud yawn and beeline-ed for the table where a spread of eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, and pancakes were laid out.  And coffee.  Hot, black coffee.

“I knew I smelled bacon,” he mumbled as he crunched into a piece while pouring coffee for himself.

Cas smiled at him around a large forkful of syrup soaked pancake.  “Sor’fe.  Din’t een oo ake oo up.”

“Not your fault.  The bacon called to me.”

Cas swallowed and then tilted his head as he looked at Dean.  “You’re already dressed.”

Dean shrugged a shoulder and hoped the heat on his face was still from the sunburn.  “I thought I’d go looking around with you after all.”

Cas smiled.

“But no pools or beaches.  I don’t want to have to take another shower.”

“Okay.  How about the Dolphin Cay and the aquariums?”

“Sounds good.”

After they demolished breakfast, they set out from the room with a camera crew trailing after them.  They visited Dolphin Cay, and were a little miffed that they had to pay just to have access to it; it wasn’t like they were doing the swim with the dolphins thing.  It was pretty cool though watching the families play in the shallow water with the friendly animals.

Then they walked toward the Royal Towers and looked at a giant aquarium actually inside the hotel.  Sting rays with ten feet wing (fin?) spans swam through the water like birds in the sky.

Dean was appalled that such giant sea creatures existed.  Cas laughed and pointed out that they’d probably been near some when they had been out on the boat the day before.  Dean was glad he didn’t know that at the time, though he suspected Cas might be teasing him.  They hadn’t been **that** far out to sea.

Then they left the building and walked out among the large complex of pools and lazy rivers and water slides.  Dean was a little freaked out by the pool of hammerhead sharks that was less than three feet from a swimming pool.

The resort really was amazing.  They found the aquarium with the tunnel running through it and dodged excited, scampering kids as they traversed it.  All kinds of fish and sharks were swimming around them and over their heads.

    

Dean stopped to point out a large black grouper that was just hanging out by the clear wall.

“Ugh.  You almost caught one of those yesterday,” Dean said.

Cas shuddered as he looked at the thing.  “I mean, I know how big they get—I’ve read the stats—but actually seeing one?  God, the ocean is creepy.”

Dean laughed and clapped him on the shoulder as they left the tunnel.  His hand lingered and he started to move it, but it was sliding down Cas’ arm.  He only realized he was going for his hand when he felt elbow.  He immediately pulled his hand back and their steps carried them a couple inches farther apart as they walked.  They entered another indoor aquarium with dim lighting and much smaller tanks that housed some very interesting creatures.  Dean looked over Cas’ shoulder as he took a picture of sea horses with his cell phone.

    

“You suck at this.  They’re all blurry.”

“Well, you do better!”  He handed Dean his phone and then ran over to a different tank.  “Take one with me in it.”

“Okay.”

“Wait, wait!  Let me…”

Dean shook his head as he looked at the picture.  Cas stood next to him, way too close for Dean’s poor concentration to think of anything but his warmth and spicy scent, to check out the picture.

“Nice.”

“So the wrong kind of nerd,” Dean murmured.

“Careful, Winchester, or I won’t meet you under the bleachers anymore.”

Dean considered his possible responses.  What could he say that would imply he was an idiot, sorry, and wanted to try out the Jacuzzi tub with him when they got back to the room all in one?  His stomach preempted anything he might say with a loud growl.

Cas laughed.  “How can you be hungry already?  It’s only—oh.  It’s after one already.  Time flies, I guess.  You want to grab lunch at one of the little cafes and then head back to the room and change for filming?”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

They made their way out of the aquarium and back into the bright, warm sunshine.

“You were right, you know,” Dean said.

“Of course I was.  About what?”

“Looking around this morning.  It kept my mind off this afternoon.”

Cas smiled, a little shyly, and bumped him lightly with his shoulder.  Dean returned the gesture and was grateful things had gotten a little less awkward between them.

***

“Hello, chefs!  Are you enjoying your time here in The Bahamas?” Bela asked.

“Very much,” Cas replied.

“It’s awesome,” Dean said.

Bela laughed.  “I can’t tell if that means you’re impressed or not, Dean.  Everything is awesome to you.”

Dean scowled as Cas suppressed his laughter.

“This is your challenge, chefs.  Final Service.  The challenge is a combination of cooking techniques, culinary skills, and your ability to make creative and delicious dishes.  There will be seven courses, each testing your ability to master a particular type of dish or style of cooking.  Some of them may not be a full course on their own, so it will be up to you to make a dish with it while still making it the star.

“Now, here are the seven courses you will be serving the judges.  Course one: an amuse-bouche.  One single bite that showcases both skill and flavor.  Course two: a bread.  It can be sweet or savory, but it must be made from scratch.  Course three: a soup, gazpacho, or consommé.  It can be served hot or cold.  Course four: a soufflé.”

Dean side-eyed Cas who just bit back a smile.

“The soufflé must be savory and not a dessert.”

Dean barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

“Course five: grilling.  It can be a vegetable or a protein, but it must be cooked exclusively on a charcoal grill.  Course six: pasta.  You can serve any type of pasta you like, egg, flour, rice and in any style of cooking you prefer, but you must make the pasta by hand.  Course seven: a dessert.  In this you have free rein, so long as it is recognizable as a dessert of some kind.”

Bela quirked an eyebrow and everyone was remembering season six when one contestant had served sugared shirred eggs as their finale dessert.  Even home viewers had had gag reactions as they watched the judges try to eat it.  Needless to say, that contestant hadn’t won.

“The other requirements you have are that one dish must be vegetarian; you must use chicken or beef but only one and only in one dish; you must prepare a fish dish, and shellfish or other seafood items may **not** be used in exchange; a game protein such as venison, bison, or duck in at least one dish.  You must prepare at least one gastrique, one puree, and one dish must be served with two different sauces.  Finally you must also serve one pickled item.

“Other than that, let your imaginations run wild.”

 Yeah, as wild as a horse in a corral.  I wish I could cook my own seven course meal and just show them what it means to eat food made by Dean Winchester.

 I rather like the strict requirements for the meal.  It forces us to show a range of cooking techniques, but still allows us the freedom to add our own touch to it.

“Chefs, you will have four hours to plan your meals, collect your ingredients from the pantry we’ve set up for you, and prep.  Tomorrow you will have two hours to cook until start of service.  You will need to make seven tasting portions for seven judges, and you will be serving simultaneously so the judges will be able to compare each course side by side.

“And then…we will declare America’s Next Top Chef.”

Dean felt an involuntary thrill shoot through him at the title.  He’d heard it ad nauseam over the course of the competition, but now he might actually win the damn thing.  He glanced over at Cas.  This putz had nothing on him.  Other than two years of classical training and eight years of professional experience.  Yeah, but, other than that he was nothing but a thirty-four year old successful restaurateur with a creative imagination, nimble hands, plush lips, salty-sweet skin, and eyes that would frustrate any poet with their inability to adequately describe them.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”  Dean blinked his eyes to clear his vision and looked at Bela.  “What?”

“You can head into the kitchen now to meet with your sous chefs.”

“Oh, right.  Thanks.”

He turned to leave and noticed Cas wasn’t even in the room anymore.  How long had he been standing there?

“Oh, Dean?”

Dean turned to face Bela.  She delicately flicked a finger at the corner of her mouth.

“You’ve got a little drool there.”

He swiped his wrist across his (dry) mouth and scowled at her as he left the room.  She chuckled, and then sighed wistfully.

As soon as he entered the kitchen he was attacked by a petite redhead who jumped into his arms for a fierce hug.  Dean laughed and staggered into the wall behind him so he wouldn’t drop her.

“Hey, Charlie.”

“Hi, Dean!  I have to thank you again.  This place is amazeballs.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying it, but in return you better work your ass off for me.”

Charlie hopped back to the floor and saluted him.  “At your service, commander.  Put me to work.”

Dean grinned at her and then turned to see Benny waiting for his turn.  They stepped forward and hugged each other.  Dean was happy when he felt Benny hold on a little tighter before letting him go.

“It’s good to see you, brother.  I feel like an idiot for not getting your contact information before we all left.”

“Me too!” Charlie piped up.  “I got like, everyone but you.”

Dean shook his head with embarrassment.  “It probably wasn’t your fault.  I didn’t get anybody’s information.”

“Not **anybody’s**?” Charlie repeated.  She giggled.  “You and Cas must have had a passionate reunion.”

Dean gave her warning looking.  “Charlie.”

“What?  Everyone will know when it airs.  Or…was it not all like bow-chicka-wow-wow?”

Dean did his best not to smile at Charlie’s porn music and shake of her hips.

“You’re wasting my time, woman.  Now, you two, come here.  They gave us a sheet with the requirements on it.  I’ve got a few ideas to fill most of them, but I’ll probably need your help with a couple of them and definitely some advice on how to make this thing a cohesive meal.”

The three of them gathered around a countertop and Dean explained the dishes he had already thought up to them.  He was very lucky he had them on his team because they definitely helped him tweak and mostly importantly refine the meal.  By the time they started prepping Dean was feeling even more confident about Final Service.  He was still nervous as fuck, but now he knew that if he was doing down, he was going down swinging.

Two hours into the prep work Dean’s back was starting to ache, but Charlie’s chipper chatter was keeping him distracted.  He also had Benny telling him stories of how his daughter kept trying to trick him into revealing information about the show to keep him laughing.

“I definitely have to meet this kid,” Dean said as he prepared the marinade for his game protein course.

“I would love for you to meet her,” Benny replied.  “Carencro ain’t that far from Kingsville.  Half a day’s drive probably.”

“And you should totally come see me in Boston,” Charlie added.  “You’ll have to take me out so I can use my new Prada purse.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at her.  “Why would I take you out if I’m the guest?  And do you own a Prada purse?”

“Yes!  Like, I went to the Straw Market, which was totally rad by the way, and I bought this cute Prada knockoff.”

“Ohmygod is it so cute?” Kevin called from across the kitchen.

“Shut-up, Skyrim!” Charlie yelled back.

“Meg, did you buy a totally cute Prada knockoff at the Straw Market?” Kevin asked.

“Absolutely not,” Meg said as she walked by with a metal bowl full of—something.  “My Prada is real.”

She smirked at Charlie and then set the bowl beside Cas on another counter.  They hovered over it together and Dean was not happy.  One: he had no idea what had been in the bowl.  Two: Meg was standing so close to Cas neither could move without their bodies brushing together.

Charlie rolled her eyes and turned her back on the woman with an exaggerated hair toss.  “Anyway.  And you totally have to take me out even though you’re the guest because you’re a dude, and I am very much a lady.”

“But you’re a lesbian,” Dean said, perplexed.

“And lesbians and ladies are mutually exclusive?!”

Dean winced at her shrill tone.  “Of course not.  But, when I buy somebody dinner, I’m expecting to get laid at the end of the night.”

“You never bought me dinner,” Cas said.

Dean’s head shot up, his face doing a pretty decent impression of a roaring fire.  Cas still had his back to him and was working his hands in the bowl of that mystery stuff.  Forcing himself to calm down he leaned over the counter and nodded his head, calling his sous chefs in conspiratorially.  They leaned on their arms so they could all put their heads together.

“Look, this is a battle.  I can’t go in blind.  I know what I’ve got is good and I don’t have plans to change anything drastically, but I need to know what I’m up against.”

“You want us to spy for you?” Charlie asked.

“No, not _spy_.  Investigate.”

“If this is a war,” Charlie said seriously, “it’s spying.”

“Will it make you feel better if I send you on a spy mission?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.  I’m sending you on a spy mission.  Go talk to Kevin about something geeky.”  Charlie gasped in offense.  “And find out what he’s working on.  Benny, find out what is in that freaking metal bowl.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Dean shot him a look.  “This is not the Navy.”

“Marines are sailors when they’re on a ship, brother.”

“Marines are **always** Marines.  Oo-rah!”

Benny laughed and walked away, shaking his head.  Charlie—God, Charlie—was making her way down the counter toward Kevin looking anything but natural and inconspicuous.  Dean put his head down and got back to work.

 So, Dean sent his sous chefs to spy on my side.  I didn’t mind.  It isn’t going to help him.

By the end of the four hours, Dean was tired, stressed, cranky, and his back was killing him, which was a moot point because his feet had already done that about an hour ago.  Nobody else seemed to be in any better shape and even though he still had a ton of work to do, he was relieved when the timer went off indicating their time was up.

Dean was still looking at his list of things that had to be done (so many items weren’t crossed off) when the group had to part ways.  Benny, Charlie, Meg, and Kevin were all sharing a bedroom suite in a different tower.  Dean wondered how that little arrangement was going to turn out.  He and Cas walked, very slowly, back to The Reef.  Where was that stupid golf cart when they really needed it?

On the elevator Cas groaned painfully and tried to flex a shoulder.  He couldn’t lift it very high and tentatively rolled it in a circle.

“Damn.  I work fourteen hour days at Salvation and I’m never this worn out.”

“I know, right?” Dean replied.  “I feel like I’ve been pounding a mangled frame back into shape all day.”

Cas glanced at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Cars,” Dean explained.

“Ah.”

He groaned again and wiggled his shoulders.  Dean found some courage and reached out to feel around Cas’ back with his hand.  He moved it around until he found a large, hard knot of muscle with his thumb.  “Is this it?”  He pushed on it with his thumb and Cas replied to the affirmative with a disgruntled, groaning, “Yes.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty bad.”

The elevator reached the top floor and Dean dropped his hand.  They walked over to their door and Dean tried to figure out a way to offer Cas a back massage without coming off like a creepy molester.  Leave out oils, leave out getting naked.  Don’t mention that he’d probably have to climb on top of him to really get at it.  Don’t mention how the massage was a ruse that would hopefully lead to sex and embarrassing confessions.

“Hey, Cas, if it’s really that bad,” Dean started as Cas stuck the card key in the door lock, “I can, you know, I could—“

“Whoa,” Cas said and Dean bumped into him when he stopped walking.

Dean looked around him to see what had made him stop so suddenly.  Four people in white clothing stood in the quasi-foyer with their hands clasped in front of them.  Two massage tables were set up by the balcony.

“Welcome back,” one of the women said as she stepped forward.  “The producers thought you might need some help relaxing after today’s activities.”

“They are not wrong,” Cas said, sounding stoked about the prospect of getting a professional massage.

Dean would have been disappointed at losing the chance to offer the massage to Cas himself, but the thought of having a professional work on him for forty-five minutes or an hour was too tempting.

“Just tell us what kind of pressure you’re looking for and what would make you the most comfortable.”

“Well, Claire,” Cas said reading her name nametag, “You seem lovely, but I think I’m going to need Brian’s muscles tonight.”

Dean shot him a look at that wording, but he was already collecting his white fluffy robe and heading into the bedroom to change.  The other two masseuses looked at him expectantly.

“Um, I’ve got some serious work I need done too, but I think I’m going to have to go with Heidi,” he said, giving the cute blonde a charming smile.

The girl ducked her head with a smile as she handed him his robe.

“Don’t worry, sir, I’ve got some muscle on me too.”

Dean gave her a wink and she turned away with a giggle as he walked into the bedroom to change.  When he came back out only Heidi and Brian were still present and Cas was sliding under the towel on the massage table.  Dean gulped as he crossed the room.  There was Cas: completely naked except for a flimsy towel; about to be covered in oil; his muscles kneaded and worked until they were warm and loose and pliant.  And then his view of the man was blocked as Brian stood next to the table.  Damn it.  Why hadn’t he sent all of them away?

Knowing he was just going to have to accept this as a “que sera, sera” moment, he quickly disrobed and slipped under the towel.  Heidi put some oil on her hands and rubbed them together quickly to make them warm.

“Let me know if the pressure is too much,” she said.

Dean chuckled.  “Don’t worry about it.  You do look strong but I doubt that—ah!  Okay, maybe a little less pressure.”

He heard a snuffling sound beside him and turned his head to see Cas smiling amusedly at him.  He frowned.

“So how is Brian doing?” he asked tetchily.

“Brian—is divine,” Cas said with a sigh.

Dean rolled his eyes and stuck his face in the hole in the table.  Whatever.

The next thing Dean was aware of, someone was gently squeezing the back of his neck and calling his name softly.  He stumbled out of his fluffy cloud, realizing he’d fallen asleep.

“Cas?” he asked sleepily.

“Hello there, Dean,” a female voice said.

Dean forced his eyes open.  Oh, there was Heidi.  He sat up, careful to keep the towel over his lap.

“Hi, Heidi.”

“So, how was it?  Feeling better?”

“Feeling awesome.”

“I’m glad to hear it.  But unfortunately, our time is up,” she said with a little pout.

Dean nodded.  “Okay.  Let me just…”

He trailed off as Heidi held out his robe for him.  She looked away while he put it on and then smiled brightly at him.

“You can keep the robe for now and the maid staff will return it to the spa later.”

“Okay.”

“I just need you to sign here.”

Dean took the little booklet with the bill and flipped it open.  His eyebrows shot up.  Holy shit.  It was a good thing he wasn’t paying for this because as good as the massage had been he wasn’t entirely sure it was worth this much.  But as long as the show was paying, he gave Heidi a hundred dollar tip.  She took the book back and tucked it in her bag of supplies without opening it.

“It was a pleasure, Dean.  Good luck in the competition!”

“Thank you.”

She turned and started breaking down the massage table.  Dean wanted to offer to help, but he had a feeling he would only get in the way.  Brian was similarly folding up the table Cas had been on.  He looked around the room for the man; he was sitting at the dining room table, looking over the room service menu.

“You’re hungry?” Dean asked as he approached him.  “Didn’t you eat while you cooked?”

“Yeah, but, I figured as long as we’re getting free food.”

“Good point.  I mean, we did a lot of work today.  We could use a snack.”

“Yes, maybe something light, like the caprese salad.”

“Or the prime rib.  Get me the fucking prime rib, I’m starving.”

Cas laughed.  “Thank God.  I thought it was just me.”

They ordered a couple of steaks with baked potatoes, a caprese salad because Cas actually did want one, an order of nachos because Dean felt the need to feed his stomach more than the need to be classy, a bottle of red wine, one slice of key lime pie, and one slice of cheesecake.  While they waited on the order, they both took hot showers to further the relaxed state of their muscles and to clean off the gallon of oil on their skin.

Dinner was more relaxed than it had been the night before.  They talked easily about their dishes and problems they had encountered in the process and shared tidbits of information they’d learned about what their sous chefs had been up to.  Dean was ecstatic to hear that Meg was apparently dating someone “seriously.”  Though that hadn’t stopped her from flirting with Cas all damn day.

When they were finished eating they moved into the living and sat on the couch together, though at opposite ends.  Dean almost managed to completely block out the filming crews.  Their conversation continued to be light and easy, until it wasn’t.  They ran out of safe topics and then just fiddled with the hems of their shirts or looked around the room like there was something new to see.  The silence began to stretch out into really uncomfortable awkwardness.

“Hey,” Cas said.

“Yeah?” Dean asked, latching onto his attempt to end the silence.

“I was thinking…that win or lose, I’ll move out of here after it’s over.”

Dean cocked his head.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean, probably not tomorrow night if it runs late, but the day after, I’ll check out and you can have the room.  Because, even though they try to make it a surprise, they always fly the finalists’ families in for the reveal.  And that way your brother and friends can stay here with you in a really nice suite.”

Dean was upset and he knew it showed on his face, but Cas wasn’t meeting his eyes.  “What about you?  What about your family?”

“Oh, I’m sure they won’t come.  Maybe one of my younger brothers.  Or my sister, Anna.  But, they won’t want to stay long.  So, I’ll just go and you can have the room.”

Dean clenched his jaw and tried not to feel Cas’ rejection like a knife in his heart, but his chest felt so tight.  He balled his hand into a fist until the pain was strong enough to override his other senses.  He spoke in an even tone when he said, “If that’s what you think is for the best.”

Cas’ head snapped up.  He looked a little distressed as he asked, “Do you think that?  That’s it’s for the best?”

“Well, that’s what you said.  So…yeah, I guess so.”

“Oh.  Well.  You’re probably right.”

“Hey, I’m just agreeing with you.  You suggested it.”

“I know.  But, I thought you…would think it for the best.”

“Well, I do if you do.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and then looked away.  Dean heard a smacking sound and turned to see one of the film crew with her palm flat against her forehead and an exasperatedly annoyed expression on her face.  He wasn’t sure what she was doing, so he turned back to face Cas who was standing up from the couch.  Dean stood up too.

“Well,” Cas said.  “Good luck tomorrow, Dean.”

He stuck out his hand.  Dean looked down at it and then back up at his face.  He shook his hand.

“Good luck to you too, Cas.”

While the temptation was there, Dean didn’t allow his hand to linger and pulled it back.  He gave a tight smile and then walked into his bedroom and shut the door.

***

Dean tried to put the garnish on top of his amuse bouche, but his hands were shaking.  He had big hands, there was nothing delicate about them, but he could use them with precision and finesse.  Right now though, he couldn't even hold one of the stupid leaves in his hands.  He dropped the garnish and leaned on the counter.  He glanced at the timer.  He had less than three minutes before the first bite went out.  He felt absolutely sick, like about to throw up and then pass out kind of sick.

The afternoon had started off—okay.  He'd felt the same nervous jitters that he did before any Elimination Challenge, but he'd pushed through it and worked hard for the last two hours.  Benny and Charlie had been rocks.  They'd anticipated his needs, always asked before doing something that deviated even slightly from his original plan, and provided honest feedback as everything came together.  He'd been feeling confident and in control until just about thirty seconds ago.  It may have been around the time his saw Cas' completed amuse bouche.  His was so simple in comparison.  He realized he was going to make a fool of himself in front of the judges.  He didn't deserve to be a finalist.  He was a total fraud.

"Dean."

Dean turned and saw Benny leaning on the station and giving him a "Seriously, brother?" look.  Dean let out a shaky laugh.  Benny put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Get that garnish on.  Plates out in one minute."

Dean nodded.  Then he shot a glare at him.  "My sous chef could help!"

"I'm on it."

With Benny's steadying presence beside him, they got his first dish plated neatly and cleanly.  The timer went off and they pulled their hands back indicating they had stopped working.  The waiters swept in picked up the plates.  Cas and Dean reached the door of the kitchen at the same time.  They paused and looked at each other.

"You ready for this?" Cas asked, his voicing shaking only a little.

Dean felt bad about it, but realizing Cas was nervous too made him feel better.

"Does it matter if I'm not?  We're doing it."

Cas smiled.  "Good point.  What's the use of being nervous then?"

"None.  So we're totally chill."

"Oh, yes.  Totally...chill."

"I still want to throw up."

"Me too."

"Fantastic."

They walked out of the kitchen and Dean may have leaned toward Cas just a touch so that their hands brushed together.  It may have been his imagination, but he thought Cas might have given his hand a light, encouraging squeeze.  They entered the dining room, a medium sized room that had been cleared out just for the show, and approached the table of judges.  Dean's eyes swept over the assembled group of successful and extremely talented chefs.  He wondered if it was too late to forfeit.

"Hello, Castiel and Dean," Bela said.  "Welcome to Final Service.  For tonight's final evaluation, we have quite the pantheon of judges.  Of course you all know Naomi Milton, Gabriel Engel, and Fergus Crowley.  Joining us are Missouri Mosley, Pamela Barnes, and Balthazar Engel."

Dean considered his odds.  Naomi and Gabriel tended to favor Cas' food, and Balthazar was probably going to side with the classically trained chef.  Bela and Pamela he knew would be on his side, and Missouri did seem to find his self-taught methods charming.  That left Crowley as the swing vote.  There really was no way of predicting how this would turn out.

"Chefs please tell us about the first course, an amuse bouche."

Dean and Cas had Rochambeau-ed in the kitchen, and Dean had lost so he was going first.  He thought that away from Sam using scissors would totally work.

"What I've made is a red wine gastrique glazed pork belly with micro greens.  This also fulfilled my gastrique requirement.  I wanted the gastrique to be featured and not just added to a dish."

"I prepared," Cas started, "smoked sockeye salmon over a cucumber tower filled with chevre, capers, dill, and shallots with a taro root chip.  This is also my fish requirement."

The judges all looked at the dishes and a couple whispered a comment about the presentation.  Then they all looked at Dean and Cas.  They realized belatedly they weren't meant to be around for the tasting.  They turned, bumped into each other, and then inhaled deeply as they calmly walked out of the room.  Well, that was smooth.

As they approached the kitchen Dean said sarcastically, "Chevre."

Cas shot him a look.  "That's what it is!"

"It's goat cheese, you big snob."

Cas growled softly and let Dean enter the kitchen first, so he could kick him in the ass.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, rubbing his butt.

"Oh my God, stop flirting!" Meg yelled at them.  "The timer has started.  Less than twenty minutes until the bread course!"

Dean and Cas immediately returned to work and Dean knew he was bushing and smiling.  God, he was such a sap.  But he had other things to worry about right now.  His bread was still baking, but he had several components to get ready for his third course, so he concentrated on that.  When the timer went off Dean was not feeling good about the second course either.  He knew the bread was good, but compared to Cas' it definitely fell flat again in presentation.

As they followed the waiters out of the kitchen Dean muttered, "What are you serving this time?  Pancetta instead of bacon?  Oh, wait..."

"Okay, one: pancetta is **not** the same as American bacon so there is nothing wrong with using the proper term.  And two: keep up with that sass and I'll do something more to your ass than just kick it."

"Promise?" Dean shot back.

Cas glared at him, but the effect was ruined by his blush.  They instantly put on serious faces as they entered the dining room.  None of the judges looked ill; that was a good sign.

"Chefs," Bela said, "those two bites were the perfect way to start the meal.  We're certain we are in for a treat this evening.  Now if you'll please share your bread course with us."

Dean went first.  "I made a zucchini bread, but not the kind most people are familiar with.  I decided to make it a savory bread rather than sweet.  It's made with zucchini, of course, and tomatoes, fresh basil, scallions, buttermilk for a sharp back note of flavor, and applesauce for texture and a hint of sweetness."

"I decided to make a bread course that would also fulfill my 'either chicken or beef' requirement," Cas said.  "It's an herbed bread made with garlic, shallots, parsley, sage, and shredded chicken.  Enjoy."

This time they turned without bumping into each other and left immediately.  Cas shot Dean a look.

"'A sharp back note of flavor,'" Cas mimicked.  "Nice way of saying 'sourness.'"

Dean flashed him a smile.  "Thanks.  I thought it was well said too."

Cas gently shoved him into the door frame of the kitchen and Dean laughed.

"Again with the flirting?" Meg sighed in exasperation.  "Your soup is too complicated for that, Castiel.  Get a move on!"

Dean hurried over to check on how Charlie was doing with the crostini.  He was technically serving two things with the next course and he didn't have time to flirt with the competition.  He, Charlie, and Benny set up a nice assembly line as they put the course together, and Benny started singing a sea shanty to keep rhythm.  Of course as is the case with most sea shanties, it was quite dirty and had Dean and Charlie laughing so hard they could barely complete their tasks.

Dean was still chuckling when he walked out to the dining room with Cas to present the soup course.  Cas shook his head.

"What?" Dean asked warily.

"I really don't think it's possible to do that with a mermaid's anatomy."

Dean burst out laughing and the judges all looked up as they entered the room.  Dean immediately tempered his laughter and then cleared his throat.

"Well, I certainly hope your third courses are just exciting," Bela said.  "Dean, if you please."

"I've made a chilled avocado-zucchini soup topped with roasted corn and a bit of Roadhouse hot sauce brought all the way from Texas for some spice and heat.  I've paired that with a pickled herring and apple crostini with dilled ricotta to fulfill my pickled item and fish requirements."

  

"Pickled herring," Gabriel said flatly.  "Bold choice."

Dean smiled.  He wasn't worried; he knew it was good.

"Did you just use the left over zucchini from the bread round in your soup?" Balthazar asked.

"No," Dean responded just shy of being belligerent.

"I made," Cas quickly stepped in, "Kulajda soup.  It's a traditional cream based soup with Czech origins.  It's made with vegetable stock, potatoes, white mushrooms, heavy cream, milk, flour, hard boiled eggs, white vinegar, fresh dill, and caraway seed."

Dean felt despairingly impressed with Cas' soup.  It was fucking beautiful.  He hoped it tasted like shit.  They left the dining room and Dean sighed.

"What?" Cas asked using the same tone Dean had earlier.

"It's no fun ripping on you for being a pretentious dick when your food is that amazing."

Cas let out a small laugh and ducked his head.  Dean nudged him with a shoulder.

"Unh-uh.  Don't play the shy card with me.  I know you too well for that."

Dean meant the comment to be playful, but his tone was serious with a hint of sadness.  They paused in the kitchen door, searching each other's eyes for some sort of clue as to what was really going on in the other's head.  The moment dragged out, but Dean couldn't look away.

"Hey, what's with the flirting, huh?" Kevin said laughingly, startling them.

"Kevin," Meg said his name even though her tone clearly said, "You idiot."

Kevin shrugged.  "What?"

"Timing," she explained, slapping him on the shoulder.

"Come on, Dean," Benny said.  "I'm not taking those soufflés out of the oven.  They are going to live or die by your hand, brother."

Dean decided to ignore whatever looks Kevin and Charlie were giving him and Cas, and pushed up his sleeves.  He'd never actually made a soufflé before and had had to rely on Charlie's culinary school knowledge and spying skills in order to make something worthy of the judges.  He was actually pretty proud of himself as he pulled them out.  They weren't as tall and fluffy as Cas' soufflés, but they were nice to look at and packed quite a punch in the flavor department.

Cas and Dean stalked the waiters, making sure none of them were treading too heavily lest the soufflés be jostled and fall.  Everything made it to the table safely and Dean exhaled in relief.

"Chefs," Bela said.  "We are very excited about this soufflé course and I'm thrilled to see that they all turned out so well."

"Well, perhaps we should wait to taste them before we make declarations like that," Crowley said.

"Then I suppose we better get started.  Dean?"

"What you have is a chicken and mozzarella cheese soufflé made with sour cream, chili flakes, and basil.  This is also my chicken or beef requirement."

"I'm presenting the same soufflé I did in round three," Cas said.  "Only this time, it came out perfectly.  It was important to me to get this one right since it was my little sister's favorite dish, and I wanted to make her proud.  It's an herbed potato and cheese soufflé and is my vegetarian course."

"Thank you, chefs," Bela said.

They turned and headed back into the kitchen.

"I'm glad that round is over with, but I don't know if we're past the hard part or not," Dean said.

"I know what you mean.  We're more than halfway through now but it still feels like the hardest part is to come."

"Exactly, it's like—"

Dean cut off as they stepped into the kitchen.  It was empty.  All four of their sous chefs were suspiciously missing.  They looked around, confused.  And then from the pantry they heard a whispered voice say, "Move over, I can't see!"

Dean rolled his eyes and yelled out, "Benny!  You better have that venison ready for the grill!  Meet me outside in five!"

The next twenty minutes were a blur.  Of course the meat couldn't be cooked until just before it was ready to go out, and he still had other components to prepare to go with it.  Getting everything done and plated before the timer went off was nothing short of a miracle.  The close call got the adrenaline pumping and as he walked out with Cas he was buzzing with excitement.  Cas seemed to be in about the same state and when they tuned to glance at each other their gazes held and Dean licked his lips as Cas inhaled sharply.  Then they were in the dining room and forced their attention on the judges.

"Oh, my!" Missouri said.  "Something smells divine."

"It really does," Bela said.  "I can't tell which it is or if it's both!  Dean, what have you made for us?"

"What you have is a grilled venison sirloin with macadamia-kale puree and butternut squash goat cheese..." he paused to toss a look in Cas' direction.  The man rolled his eyes.  "...cannelloni.  This course covers my game protein and puree requirements."

"My grilled course is also my game protein," Cas said, "and I have made grilled duck with vegetable hash and a fresh blackberry gastrique, fulfilling my gastrique requirement.  I have a third required element with this dish and have paired the duck with pickled beet duck eggs."

  

Dean wasn't sure if he refrained from making a face as Gabriel quirked a smile as he looked at him.  They turned and left and hadn't gotten far from the dining room when he said, "Pickled duck eggs?!"

"Yes, pickled duck eggs.  With beets."

"I'm sorry, but there is no way that is good."

"Oh, and pickled herring is a real palate pleaser."

"It totally is."

"Oh, well, totally.  That explains everything."

"You know what?"

"What?" Cas asked with a smirk.

"Dean!" Benny called out when they entered the kitchen.  "We need some more fresh basil!"

"Got it!"

“So do we, Cas!” Meg echoed.

Dean peeled off to head into the pantry.  He picked some sprigs from the basket of extremely fresh herbs Lenore had found for them.  Dean thought they might have been dug out of the ground that day.  When he turned around, Cas was behind him reaching for the herb basket.  Had he turned right like he was prone to do, they would have seamlessly made the transition, but Dean had turned left.  Right into Cas' space.  They stood, inches apart, adrenaline fading but still thrumming in their blood.  Dean took two steps forward, pushing Cas back against the opposite shelves.  The shelves rattled dangerously, threatening to spill their contents.  Dean looked at Cas' lips.  They were shiny from having just licked them.  Dean knew he could lean down and kiss him and Cas wouldn't push him away.  But they just couldn't afford to let a moment of lust distract them from their mission.  This competition meant too much to both of them.  And their relationship meant too much to Dean to cheapen it with a quick, sloppy kiss hidden away in the pantry.  But, God, did Cas smell good.  And his warmth felt so right pressing against his body.

"Yo, Dean," Benny's voice called distantly from the kitchen.  "Where's that basil?"

Dean took a step back, and then another.  Cas exhaled slowly and kept his eyes on Dean as he backed out of the pantry.

As soon as he was back in the bustling energy of the kitchen, Dean was focused again.  His next dish was pretty simple relatively speaking, which meant it had to be perfect.  He'd made his pasta the day before and was very happy it had survived being in the refrigerator overnight.  He artfully arranged the basil on top—well, it was artful for him, and the dishes were ready to go.

Dean and Cas followed the waiters and Dean flexed his shoulders.

"Back hurts?" Cas asked.

"Starting to.  You?"

"Feet.  I should have worn better shoes."

They reached the dining room and the judges didn't look quite as eager as they had been in the beginning.  Even with tasting potions and twenty minutes between courses they must be getting a little full.

"Chefs," Bela said a teasing smile on her face.  "I'm ready for my carbs.  But your handmade pasta better be more than just linguine.  Dean, what do you have for us?"

"I decided to do a kind of play on margherita pizza.  I made pasta shells stuffed with a mozzarella ricotta mixture served with a tomato sauce and a basil pesto sauce.  This is my vegetarian dish and my two sauce requirement."

"I made potato gnocchi lightly tossed in pesto and stuffed with soppressata sausage with pea puree flavored with a little pork bouillon.  This is my puree requirement."

Dean and Cas left the judges to it as the plating of their desserts was too complicated to waste any time trying to interpret any facial expressions they might catch.  As they hurried back to the kitchen, Dean said, "I didn't even know pork bouillon was a thing."

"Well, it's rarely used in Western cooking, but I didn't want to throw in chicken or beef stock.  I didn't want it to compete with the sausage."

"Do you have any of that left?  I would love to try it."

"Of course.  After we get those desserts out, I plan on eating every one of your courses, cold or not.  If I lose, then I want to know why."

Dean laughed.  "Well, I could tell you why."

"And what's that?"

"Dude.  I'm awesome."

Cas groaned, but he was doing it around a laugh.  "Just concentrate on your dessert, Winchester.  I don't want to win this thing because you screwed up while tripping on your own ego."

"Sure.  So long as you keep your pretentious snobbery out my way, Novak."

"Is this the part where I say 'you got your chocolate in my peanut butter '?"

Dean grinned at him.  "Do you know what that means?" he asked.

"Yes.  Maybe.  Shut up."

They entered the kitchen and split up to go to their stations.  Not a minute later he heard Cas gasp and say, " **That's** what that means?!"

"Yes, what planet were you on before coming to ours?" Meg asked.

"Hush.  And get me the decorations out of the refrigerator."

The time went by in a rush and Dean actually wasn't able to get the sprinkle of powdered sugar on two of the desserts, but he used so little of it to begin with it might not be noticeable.  Dean and Cas made the last trip to the dining room and Cas dug a knuckle into the bottom of his spine.

"Ow!  What was that for?"

"Suck up," Cas muttered.

"I think you mean strategic genius."

Cas laughed.  "Dean..."

"Yeah, Cas?"

They glanced at each other, but didn't speak as they entered the dining room.  They stood at the head of the table and looked at the table of judges as they oo-ed over the desserts placed in front of them.

"Chefs," Bela said eagerly, “please tell us what we have so we can dig in!"

"I made for my dessert tonight pistachio mousse with a blackcurrant cream center topped with some fresh fruit and white chocolate.  There's also a pistachio macaroon."

"Winchester," Crowley said, "you are such a flirt."

Dean laughed and shook his head lightly.

"I love a man who knows how to tease the senses with his food," Pamela said, giving Dean a wink.

"Though nothing is sexier than a patisserie with a delicate hand," Balthazar said.  "Cas, what have you made for us and how did you accomplish these delightful chocolate butterflies?"

Dean wasn't smiling anymore.  Balthazar Engel was too smug for his own good.

"My dessert this evening," Cas said, “is my two sauce requirement as well.  It's a fruit tart with chocolate sauce and crème anglaise.  The tart cream is made with a hint of guava, a nod to our host country."

"The, uh, chocolate butterflies were actually made by the delicate hand of one of my sous chefs."

"Ah," Balthazar said, sounding a touch disappointed.  Dean smirked.

"Thank you, chefs," Bela said.  "We have enjoyed this meal immensely.  And...the next time we see you, we'll be revealing America's Next Top Chef."

Dean felt icy worms and fiery butterflies begin a battle royale in his stomach.  Oh, this sucked.  Never again.  And Sam was so dead.

Dean and Cas left the dining room and were intercepted on the way to the kitchen by a couple of producers.  They were escorted to a small, plain room with nothing but a table, two chairs, and a camera crew in it.  The producers told them to sit tight and they would come back for them when the judges had made a decision.  The producers shut the door, trapping them inside with each other, themselves, and their anxiety.

Dean flopped down in a chair and put his arms on the table and his head on his arms.  It felt good to finally be off his feet and to just be **done** , but the nausea had come back with a vengeance.  He heard Cas sit down in the chair opposite of him.

"I can't believe it’s over," Cas said.

"It's not.  That's the worst damn part."

"Yeah, but, for better or worse, the cooking is done.  Neither of us had any disasters and I think we gave everything we had in that kitchen.  Whoever wins tonight isn't going to win by default; he'll have earned it."

Dean raised his head and looked at him.  Cas was actually looking at his hands that were clasped together so tightly the knuckles had gone white.  Dean remembered what Cas had said at the very beginning of the competition.  He wasn't in it for the money or the prizes or even the title.  He was in it for affirmation that he was a good chef; that he hadn't made a mistake dropping out of law school to pursue a career doing something he loved.

"Yeah," Dean said softly.  "We did earn this.  Although, if I win, I'm going to have to give Charlie a cut for saving my ass on that soufflé."

Cas tried to stifle a laugh with his hand, but he was so tired the hysteria took over.  "I'm sorry," he said between fits of laughter, "I didn't even want to do a soufflé—I just wanted to piss you off."

Dean laughed and sat back in his chair.  "You know what?  I hope they say it was completely neck and neck and when it came down to the wire it was my awesome soufflé that gave me the win."

Cas sat back in his chair, his entire body shaking with his struggle to get his laughing under control.  "If it comes down to the damn soufflé I'll..."  He trailed off and then stopped laughing.

Dean stopped laughing too and stared across the table.  "You'll what?"

Cas shook his head slightly.  "You don't want to know, Winchester."

"I probably do," he replied, looking at his hands.

Cas didn't respond and they spent the next ten minutes stretching out tense and sore muscles.  Then Dean couldn't take the stillness anymore and stood up and started pacing.  Cas could only stand about fifteen minutes of that before he told Dean to sit or he would tie him to the chair.  That started a dangerous game of innuendo filled jabs that danced carefully around anything they had actually done to each other in the month they had spent together.  Eventually they toned it down and attempted normal conversation.  There were a couple of awkward lulls here and there, but eventually they found that place again where they could talk like they'd known each other for years.

An exciting, terrifying feeling slowly filled him as he came to realize why he had fallen in love with Cas all over again.  He felt comfortable with him, he oddly felt safe when near him, of course he was attracted to him, and he was the first person he'd known in a long time that he trusted.  He wouldn't be able to explain to anyone why he felt any of that for a man he had known for so short a time, but he knew it wasn't just a high he got from great sex.  It was more.  It was everything.

"Cas," Dean said, cutting the man off in the middle of a story about the inappropriate snowmen he and his siblings used to build as children.

"Uh.  Yeah?"

"Win or lose, if you decide to stay in the penthouse or not, I'll hope you'll stick around the resort for a few days."

"I...um.  I...hadn't really thought about it much.  Either way.  I—"

"I don't want you to think that I was running you off or something."

"Oh, no," Cas said quickly.  "I didn't.  I didn't think you were...I just thought it would be...better for you."

"Right.  But.  You should stay."

"Um.  In The Bahamas?"

"Yes.  Or if you want to stay in the penthouse too, you should.  The show provided it for both of us."

"I know, but...I wouldn't want things to be...I mean.  Wouldn't it be…"  Cas shook his head with a humorless smile.  "I don't even know what I'm saying, Dean."

"Then just say you'll stay."

Cas studied his face for a long moment, and then he said, "Okay."

Dean sat back a little stunned; he'd been prepared for rejection.  "Okay.  Okay then."

The quiet started to fill the room as they had trouble meeting each other's eyes again.  Dean searched his brain for anything to say.

"Man, how long do you think we've been in here?"

Cas checked his watch.  "Over two hours."

"Shit."

"Right?"  Cas chewed on his lip as he looked at Dean.  "Dean—"

The door to the room opened and a producer stepped in.

"Guys, we need you in the dining room."

The ease and comfort Dean had been feeling was shattered.  He met Cas' eyes over the table and they gave each other a little nod.  This was it then.

They stood and followed the producer from the room and back to the dining room where Final Service had taken place.  Dean was a little surprised to see the judges still sitting at the table, and no one else in the room.  Maybe the surprise this year was that they hadn't flown in any family members.  They stood at the head of the table and squirmed as they waited to see what was about to happen.  This didn't seem like any of the other season's previous reveals.

"Hello, Dean and Castiel," Bela started.  "Again, I must reiterate how truly fantastic this meal was...every course and every dish was impeccable, well thought out, and well executed.  By far the best Final Service in the history of the show."

"The amuse bouche," Naomi said, "was exactly what they were meant to be: elegant, full of flavor, and capturing who you are as a chef.  Dean, the acidity of the wine gastrique was a perfect counterbalance to the rich pork belly.  Castiel, the salmon was cooked to perfection and you really infused it with a terrific smoky flavor, which wasn't masked by the wonderfully sharp flavors in the chevre."

Missouri spoke next.  "That savory zucchini bread was a wonderful idea.  I've never had anything like it before.  And it was delightful to eat.  It wasn't dense, the tomatoes and scallions weren't overbearing—it was, in a word, marvelous.  And Castiel, your chicken and herb bread was what the bread course challenge was all about.  You made a dish that could have been an appetizer or even an entree, and yet the bread was still the star and not just a delivery system."

"Dean," Pamela said, "I'm not a big fan of chilled soups, but yours has converted me.  The flavors were delicate and the texture was velvety.  I was worried the crostini would ruin the amazing soup, especially with that pickled herring, but they complimented each other in a unique and surprising way.  Castiel, I wonder if you know I'm part Czech on my mother's side.  And my grandmother has made kulajda soup for us before.  Hers is bit more rustic in nature, so your presentation blew me away.  But even better—I think my grandmother could learn a thing or two from you.  Your soup was flawless."

"The only thing I love more than a good soufflé," Balthazar said, "is two excellent soufflés.  Dean, the flavors you created were delicious comfort food flavors, but you still managed a light touch on your batter.  Castiel, I've never had a soufflé as light and airy as yours.  It was heavenly, and the mix of herbs you used was new and fresh."

Crowley put down his glass of Scotch to speak.  "Dean, the venison was very well done.  It can be chewy and gamey, but you got it right in that sweet spot.  And using the macadamias in the puree and the goat cheese on the side was a brilliant way to add fat and richness to such a lean meat.  I must say I don't often have **grilled** duck, but it's very impressive what you did with it, Castiel, and the blackberry gastrique was right on point.  I'll admit I was with Dean when you described your pickled duck eggs—I almost didn't want to try one—but I'm glad I did.  It was the perfect little bite of sour and sweet after the rich duck."

"Chefs," Bela said, "I absolutely cannot decide which of your pasta dishes I loved most.  Dean, your margherita pasta is devilishly clever.  It's simple and yet so full of flavor and reminiscent of margherita pizza without being margherita pizza.  I could eat ten platefuls of it.  And Castiel, gnocchi is one of my favorite types of pasta.  The sausage was delicious and that leek-pea puree was so tasty and bright on the tongue."

Gabriel put his hands in the air and then put them down on the table.  He looked seriously at both Dean and Castiel.  "Dessert was...un-freaking-believable.  I was appalled when I was offered a fruit tart and a mousse for my dessert.  We'd had such an amazing meal and you copped out on the dessert?  Never been so glad to be so wrong in all my life.  Dean, the mousse was like sweet, pistachio-flavored air, but with the smooth tang and crunch of your blackcurrant cream and candied raspberries pieces it was no longer a mousse.  It was—a Dean-o or something!  And Crowley about had a foodgasm over your macaroons again.  Castiel, the cream of the fruit tart by itself with that delightful guava flavor was so good I could eat it by the bucketful.  You should can it or something.  But then you throw in having a different bite with the chocolate sauce and changing it up again with the crème anglaise—it was like eating three different desserts in one!  Four if you did both sauces at the same time.  I licked my plate clean.  God's honest truth."

"So, as you can tell, chefs," Bela said, "the decision for us is just about impossible.  We've nitpicked every little detail about every dish and if we shared them with you, you might possibly flip this table on us.  And when we failed to find anything that adequately represented a flaw we tried to determine if one was more creative and innovative than the other.  If one was more ambitious or showed more culinary skill or created the best flavor profiles.  We couldn't make a case for one or the other meal being the better or more deserving of the two.

"So then we moved on to your body of work on the show.  You've both had your ups and down, but have consistently been at the top.  When we were asked to make our final decision, we just couldn't do it."

Cas and Dean stared at the small group of supposed culinary experts.  The cameras were still rolling, so it seemed like this decision was legit.

"Soooo," Dean said, "Does this mean we both win?"

The judges all chuckled.  Bela smiled and shook her head.

"I'm sorry, no."

"So do we both lose?" Castiel asked, his deep voice pitching the highest Dean had ever heard it (outside of the bedroom).

"No, that's not an acceptable scenario either.  We've agreed that we need a tiebreaker."

Dean felt a cold sweat break out over his forehead.  Oh, no.  No, no, no, no...

"With the help of the producers, we've decided that we're going to issue one more challenge."

Dean heard Cas hiss very softly; the judges and even the microphones probably didn't catch it.

"We're going to ask you to prepare one more dish.  There are literally no restrictions to this dish except to what ingredients you have access to.  It can be savory or sweet, a full entree or an amuse bouche, no requirements for sauces or purees or what proteins to use or not use.  Make the one thing that speaks to who you are as a chef.  The one dish that sets you apart from other chefs.  Make us one last course that is worthy of the title America's Next Top Chef.  You have an hour and a half to complete your dish, but it must be done alone—no sous chefs.

"Dean, Castiel, good luck to you both.  Your time, starts right now."

Dean and Cas turned and bolted for the kitchen.  As soon as they were out of earshot of the judges he opened his mouth, but it was Cas who said, "Son of a bitch!"  Dean smiled at him amusedly, but then almost forgot him entirely as he looked over the ingredients in the pantry.  Cas was grabbing items like he already knew what he was going to make.  Dean didn't have a clue.  He didn't have a signature dish or any particular thing that he was a master of.  In a desperate effort just to have something to do, he gathered the ingredients to make a pie crust.  He liked pie and if he failed in this final challenge, well, then he was going to need some comfort food.

As he mixed up the dough for the crust, he went through his, quite extensive, list of pie recipes.  He discarded one idea after another, nothing having the grandeur or at least the pizzazz he was looking for.  He put the pie crust in the oven to bake and leaned on his counter.  He needed a filling or he was going to have to abandon this idea and come up with something else pronto.  His brain whirled around and around until it settled on a childhood memory.  A very old and personal and sacred memory.  He had found the recipe a few years ago when he and Sam had cleaned out their childhood home after their father's death.  But could he make that...for a bunch of strangers?  If he was going to make the best dish of his life, then he had no choice but to make his mother's apple pie.

Decision made, he went in search of his ingredients: two types of apples: one tart and one semi-sweet, brown sugar, butter, an orange, a lemon, cinnamon, and nutmeg.  Then he searched through his stockpile of special ingredients.  He wondered if somehow he’d known it might come down to this because he had packed the apfelkorn, a sweet apple flavored liqueur.  He’d been surprised to discover how many of his mother’s recipes contained booze, but he couldn’t dwell on that now; he had apples to peel and slice.

He got the pie into the oven with a little over forty-five minutes to spare.  By pre-cooking the crust he'd save himself a little cook time, but he would be pushed for plating at the end.  Since he had the downtime, he decided to make a simple vanilla ice cream.  The kitchen had an ice cream maker, so he felt pretty confident it would turn out alright if he remembered his recipe correctly.

As the clock wound down the kitchen was an odd mixture of smells between Dean's sweet pie and Cas' searing scallops, but it wasn't really deterring Dean's appetite from craving both.  When the timer went off Dean had barely gotten a quenelle of ice cream on the last plate.  The plates themselves were simple, boring, and a little messy, but this was the best thing he'd ever eaten in his life.  He'd only attempted to make it once since finding the recipe, and after eating one slice he'd thrown the rest out.  Not because it hadn't been good, but because it had been too painful.  He had no idea what had possessed him to make it tonight.

Out in the dining room, Cas presented his dish first since his was savory.  Dean didn't mind if his pie cooled and the ice cream melted into it; it would probably just make it better.

"What I've made," Cas said, "is my signature dish at Salvation, my restaurant back home.  It's a recipe I've refined over the years and is one of my personal favorites to eat.  It's pan seared scallops served on a bed of lemon risotto with asparagus.  Bon appétit."

"My last dish," Dean said, hoping it really was the last thing he had to do and there wasn't a second tiebreaker looming on the horizon, "is apple pie.  It's a family recipe.  It's got a secret ingredient or two.  It's something my mother used to make for me and I only hope I did it justice here tonight.  It's served a la mode with vanilla ice cream."

"Thank you, chefs," Bela said, clearly dismissing them.

They walked back toward the kitchen and weren't stopped by any producers.  They decided waiting in the kitchen was preferable to the tiny room.  Cas brought over the plate of scallops that had been used for the camera and two forks.  Dean happily dug into the dish as it had been several hours since he'd eaten anything more than a taste here and there as he had worked.  He scarfed down more than his fair half of the dish.

"Cas," Dean said, "it's no wonder your restaurant succeeded. This is amazing.  The risotto is so creamy but has that burst of acidic lemon to compliment the scallops—and you got a nice crisp sear on them.  This is perfect.  Seriously, there's nothing wrong with it."

Cas smiled and licked the back of his fork and Dean did not think about the other things that tongue could be licking.  "You sound like one of the judges."

"You take that back," Dean said darkly.

Cas merely laughed at him.

"Fine.  This is freaking awesome.  How's that?"

"Much more Dean-like."

"Hn.  And is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Cas looked at him.  "It's a good thing."

Dean looked away to hide the blush creeping over his cheeks.  Cas was just being nice.  He turned his eyes longingly on the empty plate.  He really wished Cas had made extra.

"Dean?"

Dean looked up into Cas' earnest blue eyes.  "Yeah?"

"If you don't bring that last slice of pie over here in two seconds, I will murder you.  Slowly.  Painfully.  And I'll start my own minced meat pie shop."

"Okay, Sweeny, cool your jets."

Dean retrieved his camera plate and the ice cream had melted into a cream sauce around the pie.  That didn't seem to be a deterrent for Cas as he dug in.  With the first bite, Cas' eyes fluttered closed—and Dean's heart fluttered in his chest.

"Dean," he moaned softly, and Dean's groin responded.  "This is..."

Cas didn't finish his sentence but went in for another bite.  Dean was so enraptured watching the man devour the slice of pie bite by sweet, sticky bite that he didn't realize the whole thing was almost gone until only one forkful remained.  He squawked in dismay as he hadn't even gotten a chance to try the finished product at all.  Cas went for last piece of gooey apple on the plate with his fingers.  As he raised it to his lips, Dean leaned forward and got the last bite for himself.  Sweet, spicy apple flavor burst over his tongue and he met Cas' eyes as he pulled slowly off his fingers with light suction.  Cas' pupils dilated and his lips parted.  Dean wanted nothing more than to get more of the pie flavor from Cas—seal their lips, sweep his tongue into Cas' mouth, and taste every bit of him.  But they both pulled back and looked awkwardly at the counter.

Cas laughed breathily and said, "You know, I would marry you if it meant I could have that pie all the time."

He'd meant to make a joke, but then he realized what he'd said.  He looked up at Dean.  Dean edged a little closer and opened his mouth to speak.  But what should he say?  How could he put his feelings and desires into words without freaking him out?  Or without saying something that would make Cas misconstrue his meaning.  He had to figure this out in his head before he did something stupid.  He closed his mouth and stepped back.  Cas' shoulders slumped a little and he dropped his eyes.  The silence returned.

It was broken less than a minute later by a producer coming into the kitchen.  "Okay, guys, we're ready for you.  We're just going to get a little more powder on you to get rid of that shine, and then we'll see you in the dining room.  Chop-chop!"

Dean and Cas were assaulted by the make-up girls as they walked to the dining room.  When they were considered to be adequately shine free, they entered the room and found it much altered.

The table had been pushed back a bit and all the chairs were on one side of it with the judges sitting nearly shoulder to shoulder.  On the sides of the room from almost the front of the judges' table to the marks placed on the floor for Dean and Cas were a bunch of strangers and...Dean's jaw fell open as he saw his brother and Bobby, Adam (how the hell’d they find him?), Ellen and Jo, and even Ash had warranted an invite.  Standing with them were Benny and Charlie.  On the other side the strangers were clearly Castiel's family though they looked like a genetic catalog of option "stoic."  There were twelve people so some of them probably had to be the spouses of Cas' siblings, but it looked like more than just one or two had turned up.  Kevin and Meg stood with them.  Everyone was buzzing with nervous and excited energy.  Dean and Cas hit their marks, and they were ready to go.

"Chefs," Bela said.  "This has by far been one of the best seasons we've ever had in terms of pure talent coming to us from all walks of life.  We were treated to such a decadent, flawless meal tonight that it was impossible for us to pick a winner.  For the first time in the show's history we had to have a tiebreaker challenge.  You both prepared the best dish of your lives for us—and they were amazing.  Again, technically flawless, impeccable taste, and brilliant in their sheer simplicity.  It was a very difficult decision for us as both were obviously made with your hearts and souls in them.  However, there is one that captured us all.

"The winner will receive two hundred and fifty thousand dollars—that's a quarter of a million right there—a brand new Audi RS7, a year's supply of Holy Mountain Spring Water, an all expenses paid trip to Paris, France courtesy of Holy Mountain Spring Water, a six episode mini-series featuring your food to air on the Food Network, and—the title of America's Next Top Chef."

Bela paused to allow all that to sink in and Dean's head was spinning.  He was going to hit the floor in about fifteen seconds if they didn't hurry this along.

"The winner of season nine and America's Next Top Chef is..."

Bela paused again and Dean could imagine in his head all of the cameras zooming in on the judges' faces, the friends' and families' face, their faces—probably looking stupid and sick.

"Dean!" Bela cried out.

A small jolt went through his body at the syllable.  He knew what that word meant.  It meant him.  It meant he had...won.  Dean bent over and put his hands on his knees.

"Oh my God," he breathed softly.

He straightened in just enough time to see a wall of people descending on him.  His brother got to him first, the gigantor nearly squeezing the life out of him as he picked him off his feet in a totally unnecessarily enthusiastic hug.  Bobby patted his cheek over Sam's shoulder, and then Ellen and Jo shoved Sam out of the way so they could hug and kiss him.  Ash was shouting from the back of the pack and Benny was standing beside him bemusedly.  Charlie had wormed her way to his side and Dean soon found himself shaking hands with the judges and thanking them.

He had a kind of out of body experience where he felt like he was watching himself be surrounded by a huge group of people all telling him how amazing he was and how he should spend his money and if they could have the Audi since he clearly wouldn't stop driving the Impala any time soon.

 I don't know what to say.  When I first entered, I didn't think I had a shot in hell, but...I worked so hard for this.  I really did try my best and give my all.

 I just...this means that I...

 I think I'm just too overwhelmed right now.  It hasn't quite sunk in yet.  I mean...I won...

 I wanted this.  I wanted it so badly.  But, I think I did accomplish what I set out to do—and that was to prove to myself that I have what it takes to be an amazing chef.  I feel totally validated in my life choices now.

 And honestly, truly, I'm happy Dean won.  He deserves it.  And he is an amazing...um, chef.

 Well, he's just amazing in general.

Dean floated back down into his body after a few minutes of high energy commotion.  The return to earth made him really realize that he'd won.  Which made him realize someone had lost.  He looked around for Cas in a mild panic, worried he'd been escorted off the set.  Then he spotted him with his family, a handsome man with dark hair—who vaguely reminded Dean of a younger version his own father—stood next to him with a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Cas," Dean said, and then shouted above the ruckus, "Cas!"

The man turned around and Dean pushed gently through the ring of people as Cas walked toward him.  When they met in the middle of the room, Cas offered his hand.

"Congratulations, Dean."

Dean looked at his hand and then at his face.  Dean was tired of trying to find the right words and only saying the wrong ones.  He reached forward and took Cas' face in both of his hands and kissed him.  He couldn't have hoped for a better response than Cas, without hesitation, kissing him back and putting one hand to his waist and the other to the back of his head.

Dean didn't realize the room had gone dead quiet until it was suddenly filled with clapping and shouting and catcalling.  He couldn't care less about the audience though and just turned his head to kiss Cas a little deeper.  He would have gone right on kissing him until the world fell down around them, but Cas smiled, which made him smile, and then they were just laughing with their foreheads pressed together.  Dean dropped his hands to Cas' waist and nuzzled Cas' nose quickly—he didn't want the damn cameras to capture that bit of sappiness—and whispered, "Cas, I'm sorry."

"For what?" Cas murmured.

"For putting my name on your restaurant's waitlist and never showing up."

Cas laughed and wrapped both of his arms around Dean's neck.  "Well, I'm sorry I made some nice young girl at the Roadhouse talk to me for thirty minutes about your catering options and then never following up."

Dean threw his head back and laughed a laugh that bordered on a guffaw.  He remembered Jo bitching about some asshole who had wasted her time asking about catering a party he never scheduled a few weeks ago.

Dean leaned in for another gratifying kiss, and then pulled back to look at the man in his arms.  He raised a hand and cupped Cas' jaw, his thumb playing lightly on his bottom lip.

"I'm also sorry I never told you I love you."

Cas' eyes wavered as tears suddenly threatened to spill down his cheeks.  He attempted to speak, but then had to swallow the lump in his throat.  He wrapped his arms tighter around Dean and pressed his face into Dean's neck.

"I love you, Dean," he whispered, his lips brushing over Dean's sensitive skin.  "I love you and I'm so happy you love me."

"Alright, alright," Dean mumbled, a little embarrassed.  But he wrapped his arms as far around Cas as they would go and held him close.

***

Dean relaxed on a chaise lounge by the pool, sunglasses perched on his nose, and girly drink served in a coconut in his hand.  The sun was warming his skin and the breeze was keeping him from feeling too hot.  There was the sound of a manmade waterfall splashing into the exclusive adults-only pool, hence the peace and solitude he was experiencing rather than the piercing shrieks of small children.

He heard water sloshing near him, so he cracked his eyes open to see Cas pulling himself out of the pool in one powerful, graceful movement.  He ran his hands back through his hair as water sluiced down the planes of his tanned, muscled chest.  He seemed to be moving in slow motion.  Then he shook out his hair, water spraying everywhere as he walked toward Dean.

God was his boyfriend hot.

Dean dropped a leg to the ground so that Cas could sit sideways on the chaise.  Cas leaned on one arm over Dean's body and looked at him expectantly.

"What?" Dean asked and took a sip of his Mai Colada or Piña Tai or whatever.

"Dean.  You promised we could do something other than sit by the pool today.  I want to try out The Current."

"What's that again?"

"It's like a lazy river, only not lazy and more wavy and rapids-y."

"What's the point of a lazy river that's not lazy?"

"It's fun."

"So is lying here and doing nothing."

"Come on, Dean," Cas wheedled.  "I just totally lost a really big and important competition.  You should be doing what you can to console me."

"Cas, I have been 'consoling' you every night this week.  Most afternoons, and usually twice in the mornings.  What more do you want from me?"

Cas laughed and leaned down to kiss him.  He paused and slid the sunglasses up to Dean's head so he could get close enough to give him a thorough smooch.

"I want everything from you, Dean Winchester."

Dean kept it cool on the outside, but his insides were sparking and crackling like fireworks.

"But first I want to go on The Current."

"Fine," Dean sighed dramatically.

"Excellent."  Cas kissed him again and then sat up.  Dean could tell from his expression that his thoughts had strayed into more serious territory.

"What?" Dean asked gently.

"You know, today is our last day here."

"So?" Dean groused.  He'd been deliberately avoiding about thinking about that all day.

"So, tomorrow when we fly out of here your ticket is for Corpus Christi and mine is for Minneapolis."

Dean frowned and didn't respond.

"I think at least this time I'd like to get your phone number before we leave."

Dean smiled in spite of himself.  "I think that'd be a good idea.  What's your texting plan like?"

"It's unlimited.  Why?"

Dean didn't try to suppress a bit of the perviness that went into his next smile.

"Ugh.  If you text me pictures of your dick, I swear to God—"

"You'll what?  Jerk off to them?"

"Don't be crass," Cas admonished primly.

And that was rich coming from the guy who had the filthiest mouth of anyone Dean had ever gone to bed with.  Cas put a hand on his thigh and rubbed it soothingly.

"In all seriousness though," Cas said.  "What are we going to do?"

Dean considered the question.  It was a good question.  What were they going to do?


	13. Reunion Special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. The end. Thanks for reading. I hope this made the Hellatus a little easier. ^_^

"Hi, I'm Bela Talbot, and this is the season nine America's Next Top Chef Reunion Special!  Tonight we're going to catch up with all your favorites and see how their lives have changed since being on the show.  We'll talk to our winner, and of course the Fan Favorite and winner of the ten thousand dollar prize will be revealed.  Let's bring out our top eleven: Sarah Blake, Rufus Turner, Garth Fitzgerald, Tracy Bell, Charlie Bradbury, Meg Masters, Kevin Tran, Jody Mills, Benny Lafitte, Aaron Bass, and Zachariah Adler."

The eleven former contestants walked onto the set and squished together on the two white modern couches, one set behind the other and elevated on a low platform.  Bela seated herself in a brown leather captain's chair and crossed her legs.

"Hello, everyone!"

The group chorused, "Hello," back at her.

"So, is it exciting to be back and to see each other again?"

There was more murmuring and it was more positive than it had been in previous seasons.

"I'm so curious to know how you all have been since the show.  Do you get recognized on the street?  Have you had any exciting changes?  Meg, I heard that you taped your first guest spot with Gabriel just a few days ago."

"That's right, Meg said.  "We taped an episode of _Sinful Sweets_ where we mixed up some fun dessert cocktails.  It should air sometime in November, though I guess it will have already aired by the time this special airs."

"Have you had any changes in your career since being on the show?"

"Yes, I've actually quit my job at La Croquette and have been working on the development of my own show for the Cooking Network."

"Oh, how exciting.  Can you share any details about it?"

"Well, I can tell you the name is Meg Masters the Cooking World."

"Oh, how clever!  Sarah, how about you?"

"Well, I'm definitely the most popular mom at the playground now."  She laughed at little embarrassedly at the attention she had garnered back home.  "Several of the other stay-at-home moms have enlisted me to help them with improving their own home cooking.  We have an informal class once a week where we get together and practice new cooking techniques and recipes."

"That sounds wonderful."  Bela tilted her head and smiled playfully.  "Rufus.  How has your life changed since being on the show?"

"Well, not too much.  I still cook at my diner and I suppose there's a bit more traffic than usual.  People tell me I should smile more often for some reason.  I don't know why.  I smile all the time."

The others chuckled softly and Rufus scowled in mild confusion and disapproval.

"Garth," Bela said, "we certainly get a lot of questions on the website about you.  What have you been up to?"

"Well, I'd never tried to get a job at a fancy restaurant before because I just never thought I was good enough.  But after making it onto the show and getting some good feedback, I gained some confidence.  I applied for some new positions and I'm proud to say that I am the new head chef at the Warsaw, Missouri Red Lobster."

Everyone wasn't sure how to take that news—Garth was obviously way too talented to be cooking a premade menu at a chain restaurant, but he looked so happy, so they all clapped for him and congratulated him on his accomplishment.

"That's fantastic news," Bela said.  "It's probably the best Red Lobster in the country.  Tracy?  What have you been up to?"

"Well.  The show's only been airing for a couple of weeks now, but I have definitely gotten recognized on the streets.  I've even been contacted by a modeling agency."

Bela's smiled turned a little plastic.  "Really."

"Yes, but I turned them down.  I'm only interested in cooking.  And I've recently been offered a position as a sous chef in an up and coming new restaurant in San Diego.  It's a big risk going in with a new restaurant, but I have a good feeling about this one."

"Aaron," Bela said, "you went out fifth, but made a great comeback to get another shot at the title.  Has anything interesting come of that?" she asked like she already knew the answer.

"Well, yes," Aaron said, a little shyly.  "Balthazar Engel contacted me after the show and said he was so impressed with the beef bourguignon I made that he wanted to offer me a position in his New York restaurant.  It has been a whirlwind experience adjusting to the fast pace and high stakes of a three star Michelin restaurant, but it has been so much fun and I have learned so much in just a few short weeks.  I'm really happy working at Ange Français."

"Congratulations," Bela said.  "Charlie, how about you?  Any opportunities opened up for you?"

"Well, I had to quit my job to go on the show, and when I got back, I felt like I wanted to take a break from cooking.  So I concentrated on some programming I'd been playing around with it.  And once I was able to really focus on it, I finally achieved what I'd been meaning to do for five years.  I put some feelers out, and Google's offered me a job!  I’m going to be moving to Zurich, Switzerland!  I'm really ready for something new and to go on an adventure."

"My!  Well, that certainly is a change," Bela said.  "Well, congratulations on your success outside of the culinary world.  Kevin, tell me your mother is proud of you!"

Kevin laughed.  "Uh, yeah, actually she is.  She's been hosting parties every week at her house for her friends to watch the show.  I wish I could have won it for her, but I think I really showed how serious I am about cooking as a career and that I have the skills to do it.  I'm still working at Nicolette's back home, but now that my mom is onboard, I'm thinking about getting a loan and trying my hand at restaurant ownership."

The others murmured with pleasant surprise.  Benny clapped him on the back and Charlie said, "You totally should.  I would eat at your restaurant!"

Kevin laughed.  "Thanks, Charlie."

"Good luck to you, Kevin," Bela said.  "Jody, has your success changed anything for you?"

Jody let out a wry laugh.  "Are you kidding?  My son still thinks grilled cheese is the height of gourmet cuisine.  He's not terribly impressed with the fact that Mommy's on TV.  But I've experience a little mild celebrity in my hometown.  It's certainly allowed me to branch out and meet new people.  I'm pleased to say that I now have someone to share my cruise for two prize with."

"Ooo," Charlie said.  "Who is it?  Anyone we know?"

Jody went rigid and flushed up to her ears.  "What?  No.  No, of course not."  She obviously lied.

The group chuckled, but everyone was kind enough not to bring up the rather outrageous flirting that had occurred between Jody and Crowley during the judging sessions that as of yet had not made an appearance on the edited version of the show.  Nor was it ever likely to see the light of day lest the show be accused of displaying unfair biased for certain contestants.

"Alright," Bela said smarmily, "we'll let you keep your secrets.  Benny, tell me you are the toast of Carencro."

Benny chuckled.  "Well, I don't know about that, but business is certainly going well at Andrea's Skiff.  My two little girls have been bragging about me being on the show.  Fortunately they're still at that age when their dad is cool and not an embarrassment.  My wife and I are also making our plans to have dinner at Naomi's Paris restaurant.  Being able to take Andrea on an amazing vacation has made the whole experience worthwhile enough, but I've come out of this with some new friendships that I know will last a lifetime."

Everyone "aww-ed" and Benny shook his head at them and tsked his displeasure.

"Zachariah," Bela said, "did you make any lasting friendships while you were here?"

"Well, I've certainly made some lasting impressions."

Everyone laughed.

"This certainly was a learning experience for me.  And I think a lot of my fellow contestants were able to learn a lot from me as well."

There was some muttering following that.

"I'm still the executive chef of my own successful restaurant and I invite all of you to visit The Green Room the next time you're in LA."

"Okay then," Bela said before there was a chance for an awkward silence.  "It's great to hear all of you are doing so well.  Now let's talk about the competition a bit.  Any memorable stories?"

"Well, there was obviously the wedding challenge," Charlie said with a groan.

Everyone joined her in lamenting that had ever happened.  Bela laughed.

"The judges and I had no idea what had gone on behind the scenes, so when that episode aired I was in stitches!  I've never seen so much go wrong at one time!  Amazingly though the wedding party never noticed a thing and thought everything was quite good.  Right up until the cake landed in Victor's lap of course."

They laughed, but they were also cringing.  The memories weren't quite old enough yet to completely shake off the incident.

"How about that collision in the very first challenge?" Jody asked.

All the chefs laughed again, this time with real delight.

"I still don't know why you needed eggs to make a taco!" Kevin said.

The group dissolved into fits of giggles and snarky comments about other incidents that happened in the kitchen.  When they quieted down somewhat, Bela leaned forward with her elbow on her leg and her chin on her dainty fist.

"So, anything good happen in the residence?"

"Well, I don't think we had the most drama laden season in the show's history," Charlie said, "but we definitely had some interesting moments."

"Oh, my goodness," Kevin said, "I was certain you were going to throw Meg off the balcony that one night."

"Oh, please," Meg said, "it would have definitely been the other way around."

"What about that time Dean's brother mistook Tracy for the maid?" Jody cackled.

"What?" Sarah asked.  "What happened?"

"Oh, it was just a little misunderstanding," Tracy said with a shrug.

"You seemed pretty upset at the time," Jody reminded her.

Tracy shrugged again with a little smile on her face.  "Well, it turns out he's not such a bad guy."

"And speaking of Dean," Bela said, "what was it like living with Dean and Cas?"

A wide variety of noises came out of the contestants.

"It was super romantic," Charlie said.  "Like watching an action hero fall in love with the male lead of a romcom."

"It was a little disgusting," Meg said.  "I mean, they were so sappy."

"I honestly didn't even know all that was going on until the challenge I was eliminated on," Kevin said.

"I don't see how you missed it," Jody said.  "When they weren't cooking they were gazing dreamily at each other."

Benny chuckled.  "You think it was bad having to sit in the living room with them, trying sharing a bedroom with them."

More noises emanated from the group with Charlie squealing.

"So, did their relationship cause any problems for any of you on the show?" Bela asked.  "Do you feel it was distracting at all?"

"No way," Charlie said.  "It was a distraction, but in a good way.  The competition was uber stressful and watching those two idiots prance around each other was a nice way to relax in the evenings.  I mean, we weren't allowed to watch TV.”

"It didn't bother me," Benny said.

"It bothered me," Meg said.

Everyone looked at her.

"But only because I wanted Cas for myself."

Everyone laughed.

"I wish you'd taken him," Aaron chimed in.

Charlie hit him lightly on the shoulder, but everyone was laughing good-naturedly.

"Quite frankly I was expecting that whole thing to be more of distraction to them," Zachariah said.  "I was hoping they might eliminate each other.  Clearly, that didn't work out."

"Very true," Bela said.  "Cas and Dean were our finalists.  What did you all think of that?"

"I think they deserved to be there for sure," Charlie said.

Most everyone nodded or murmured agreement.

"Well," Zachariah said, "I think they both are excellent chefs and they would have made good competition for me.  I still think if I'd had my watermelon palate cleanser to serve at the color inspiration challenge, the final two might have been a different story."

"Oh, enough with the espuma conspiracies!" Aaron said.  "We didn't do anything to your watermelon.  You just picked a bad one."

"There was a hole right through the rind!"

Aaron shrugged.  "I don't know what you're talking about."

Everyone laughed as Zachariah crossed his arms in a huff.

"So, how about the conclusion?" Bela asked.  "You have seen a screening of the last episode.  Meg, Kevin, Benny, and Charlie, you were all there.  Do you think the right chef won?"

"Well, I think the four of us are a little too biased," Kevin said.  "I was definitely closer with Dean on the show, but I helped Cas prepare that meal and it was just about perfect."

"I agree," Meg said.

"Yeah, well, Dean's was about big delicious flavors.  I would definitely want to eat his again," Charlie defended Dean's win.

"I would have to go with Dean too," Benny said.  "The guy poured his heart into that meal."

"So, clearly they **are** too biased," Bela said.  "What do the rest of you think?"

"I think the better chef won," Aaron said.

"Well, Dean has a lot of raw talent, but Cas' technical skills are far superior," Zachariah said.

"I have to agree with Zachariah," Sarah said.  "Based on what I saw and the comments the judges made, Cas' just seemed like a more well rounded meal."

"Aw, I think it's pretty clear Winchester had that one without the tiebreak round," Rufus said.

"You know, that tiebreaker round is what did it for me," Jody said.  "Cas' final meal did seem the more refined, but you could tell that pie was personal to Dean.  It seems like it may have been simple, but making an apple pie can be quite tricky.  And making one that brought a tear to Gabriel Engel's eye—it must have really been something.  I think Dean had it."

"Oh don't ask me to pick sides," Garth said.  "I can't make a decision like that."

"I also can't pick sides—but for different reasons," Tracy said.

Everyone looked at her trying to decipher her cryptic answer.

"Well then," Bela said, "how about we bring the two finalists out?"

The group on the front couch had to part in the middle and a couple moved to chairs that were brought in by the production staff.  When Dean and Cas came out the group applauded and cheered for them.  Dean shook his head and waved them off.  The pair sat in the center of the couch and Bela fixed them with a knowing look.

"Dean, Cas, welcome to the reunion.  Are you excited to see all these familiar faces?"

"Absolutely," Cas said.  "This whole experience was so amazing because of the people we got to meet and interact with."

"Yeah," Dean said.  "There are definitely some people I've missed."  He turned slightly and reached out a hand for Benny to give him a low five and a handshake.

"Okay," Bela said, "normally we ask about what was your most memorable moment and what you've been up to since the show ended, but after that amazing finale—we all have to know.  Are you and Cas still together?"

Cas smiled, looking completely composed.  Dean only tensed a little though the blush on his cheeks was fairly prominent.  Cas glanced at Dean and he waved a hand indicating he should take the lead.

"Well, it's hasn't been that long since the finale filmed," Cas started, "so that hasn't left a lot of time for working out logistics and making plans."

There was an almost audible slump of a disappointment from just about everyone present.  Then Cas continued speaking.

"However, I've sold my restaurant, Salvation, and my house in St. Cloud and Dean had passed on the Roadhouse to the very capable hands of the owner's daughter."

There was a tangible tension in the air as everyone held their breath, waiting for the rest just in case the tale took a sudden and unhappy turn.

"And, uh," Dean mumbled, "we've decided to open a restaurant together."

"And we moved in together," Cas added.

The group let out a few wolf whistles amongst the clapping.

"And we've decided to try opening a new restaurant in a city already flooded with a few hundred restaurants," Cas said dryly.

"Dude," Dean said like they’d had this conversation a hundred times before.

"Ooo.  What is it?" Bela asked, leaning forward again.

"Well, we knew we would have to move to make things work, and I wasn't willing to move some place as cold as Minnesota and he wasn’t willing to move some place that gets as hot as Texas, so when my little brother decided to move to San Diego to, uh, pursue something of his own, shall we say, he suggested that we move out there with him."

"Oh, San Diego's lovely!" Bela said.

"Yes," Cas agreed, "but we'll have a lot of competition."

"True, but we didn't have to get a loan because of our combined winnings and we'll drum up business from people wanting to check us out from seeing the show and we'll **keep** that business because we're *beep*ing awesome chefs."

"Well, that's certainly true," Cas said thoughtfully.

"And we've got a kick ass sous chef," Dean added with a smile sent in Tracy's direction.

She smiled back and said, "I'm looking forward to the grand opening, boss."

Dean chuckled and turned back to look at Bela.  He made a face at her expression.

"I cannot be happier that you two have stayed together,” she gushed.  “I mean, after that kiss there was no way you wouldn't!  Have you seen it?"

Dean gave a stiff shake of his head.

"Let's see it!"

A screen next to Bela suddenly flashed on.  Dean covered his face with a hand as on screen he stepped out of the circle of family, friends, and judges surrounding him.  He called out Cas' name and on screen the man walked up to him and offered his hand.  On the couch, Cas leaned against him and hooked his chin on Dean's shoulder.  Dean spread his fingers enough to peek through them in time to see his screen self take Cas' face in his hands and plant an Oscar worthy kiss on him; the only thing missing was the pouring rain.  Cas' screen arms wrapped around him and in the present his hand squeezed Dean's hand reassuringly.  Both on screen and off their audience was cat calling them for the clearly passionate kiss being exchanged.

The video clicked off and Dean and Cas wiped their hands across their face, trying to hide their embarrassment and burning cheeks.  Bela used that segue to show a few more clips from the season and Dean was happy to have some of the attention shifted off of him.  He hadn't yet worked up the courage to watch the two episodes that had already aired.  Sam told him it was great and he should totally watch.  Cas agreed that the show was really good, but that perhaps Dean should watch a version edited by him first.  That could not be good for him.

After a surprisingly moving montage of clips from the show, a PA brought out a large novelty check made out for ten thousand dollars with “fan favorite” written in the memo line.  The name of the recipient was covered with white paper.

“Now it’s time to reveal the viewer’s fan favorite,” Bela said.  “Dean and Cas, the two of you certainly were one of our viewers’ most popular topics of discussion on the fan forums and your beautiful love story was one of their favorite aspects this year.”

Dean made a face at that.  They didn’t have to make it sound so…sappy.

“However, I think you guys split the vote, so our fan favorite is actually someone who was so cheerful and positive and funny that everyone just loved him.”  Bela peeled off the paper covering the name.  “Congratulations, Rufus!”

Everyone tried to repress their laughter as Rufus scowled at the check.  "Is this a joke?"

Bela smiled.  "No, it's not."

Rufus shrugged and accepted the check.  "Alright then."

Everyone congratulated him and he actually smiled at them.

After the reunion finished filming the group stood and mingled and caught up and laughed as they waited for the producers to come get them.  They were going to one final dinner together and Naomi, Gabriel, and Crowley were going to be their chefs.  If he hadn't already been contractually obligated, Dean would have shown up just for the chance to see what the people who had been judging him all season were capable of.

"You think we'll be able to do critiques of their dishes?" Charlie asked as they walked down a hallway that led to a back door of the studio.

"God, I hope so," Aaron replied with a laugh.

Dean and Cas walked at the back of the pack because Dean knew Cas would want to his hold his hand and because he also knew that he wouldn't refuse him even with everyone watching them.  How could he refuse him when feeling Cas' slim fingers intertwined with his made him feel settled and secure and cared for.  And happy damn it, it made him happy.

"Hey, Dean, Cas!"

They paused and turned in unison and saw Jerry jogging down the hall toward them.  He smiled and handed them an envelope.

"I thought you guys might like to have this.  Congratulations on everything.  I'm glad you guys worked everything out."

He clapped Cas on the shoulder, looked Dean up and down once, and then winked at them before he turned and hurried back down the hall.

"I have very mixed feelings about that man," Cas said.

"Yeah, well, you better open that here where we're alone just in case."

"It seems empty," Cas commented as he ripped open the top of the envelope.  Then he tilted it over his hand and shook out a small, black plastic rectangle.

"What's that?" Dean asked.

"It's a micro SD card."

Dean looked at him.  "What's that?"

"It's a memory storage thing, babe."

"Like, data?"

"Yes."

"What the hell does that even fit in?"

"A lot of things.  Give me your phone."

"No.  Use yours.  Who knows what Jerry gave us."

"Oh, I doubt he put anything nefarious on it.  And I can't use my phone because I already have an SD card in it."

"How do you know I don't already have one in mine then?" Dean griped as he pulled out his phone and surrendered it.

"Other than the fact that you don't know what it is?" he asked as he inserted the card.  "It costs money."

Dean made a face.  "I'm not cheap."

"I know, babe.  Ah, let's see if I can find where it is...here we go.  Oh.  It's video files."

"Video files?"

Cas pushed play and turned the phone sideways and they put their heads close to see it together.  At first Dean couldn't quite see what was going on because it was so dark and there was some white static kind of noise, but then the camera found some light and everything became clear.  The sound was the faint crashing of the ocean and Cas was sitting in his lap on the chaise in their hidden corner of the balcony at the condo in Miami.  Cas was undulating slowly, tantalizingly on top of Dean who looked like he might actually be drugged as he gazed up at the beautiful man on top of him.  His hands gripped Cas’ thighs and he pushed his hips up into Cas' movements.  Faintly, Dean could hear the incredibly provocative and boner-inducing moans and whimpers that were spilling from Cas' lips.  The worst part was that Dean wasn't even sure what day this had been—they'd gotten a little frisky on that balcony more times than they should have.  Well, maybe the worst part was that he was actually hard in his black dress pants just seeing and hearing ten seconds of Cas being amazingly sexy.

Cas turned it off and Dean almost protested, but then Cas let out a squawk of strangled anger.

"What is it?"

"There are **dozens** of videos on this thing!"

Dean made a face and watched him use his finger to scroll through screen after screen of movie files.

"Maybe we were a tad more amorous than we should have been," Dean mused.

Cas put a hand to his face.  "God.  I mean, I know most stuff like this isn't going to make it onto the show, but if Jerry managed to sneak this out of the show's archives of footage, don't you think he kept a copy for himself?"

"Oh.  Ew."

Cas sighed.  "Whatever.  I hope he got that time you mouthed at me through my boxers until I was about three seconds from coming all over both us.  I'd love to see that one."

"Caaaassss," Dean moaned into his lover's ear as the man made them start walking toward the exit again.  "Easy, baby.  You know we have to actually go to this dinner.  I don't want to be knocking on the bottom of the table the whole time if you know what I mean."

"Yes, Dean, I know what you mean," Cas said dryly as he felt Dean rub his meaning against his hip.

***

Six Months Later

San Diego, California 

Dean pulled the last piece of plastic off the shiny new Kenmore appliances that made up the interior of the new kitchen.  Who knew that prize was going to come in handy after all?  He backed up to stand next to Cas, admiring their stainless steel and chrome fortress.  Everything was so clean and shiny and perfect, and in just one short week they would be opening the doors of their brand new restaurant and it would all turn to chaos.  Carefully organized and contained chaos of course, but shouting, confusion, and panicking were sure to play large roles in opening night.

Dean couldn't wait.  He wasn't even nervous.  He was sure on opening night he'd probably have a few jitters, but knowing he was doing this with Cas kept him calm and steady and feeling utterly prepared.  They had this.  They had a simple menu, but it contained dishes they had worked on and refined together—Cas' signature lemon risotto scallops being one and Dean's margherita pasta being another.  They even had a section of the menu called Someone Made Me Come to this Fancy Restaurant but All I Really Want is Some Normal Food, which featured some of Dean's specialty sandwiches and burgers.  Cas had fought tooth and nail against the name of that corner of the menu, but one well timed blowjob had prevented him from contacting the printer in enough time to get it changed.  Word had gotten out who the new restaurant downtown was owned and operated by and they already had a two week long reservation list.  They **so** had this.

Cas' brow was furrowed as he looked around the space.  Dean knew he wasn't upset, just thinking.  He slunk over to him and slipped an arm around his waist.

"Hey, baby, I think we ought to christen the new kitchen, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, definitely.  I think we should do like a grilled cheese or something before we try to get crazy with it.  Make sure everything's connected properly, test the heat levels.  You know we really should have done that more than one week before opening."

Dean put his forehead to Cas' temple and let out a small huff of laughter.  "That's not exactly what I had in mind."

"No?  What were you thinking?  Pasta or something?"

Dean quickly picked Cas up around the waist and sat him on a work counter.  Cas put his hands to Dean's shoulders to keep him at bay as he pushed between Cas' legs and still managed to lean in and kiss him.

"No way, Dean!  The, mmn, the health inspector—ah—comes on Tue-Tues—oh, fuck yeah, babe, there.  Unn, yessss," he ended with a hiss and spread his legs wider.

Dean continued to kiss and lick and bite at the bolt of Cas' jaw—that spot almost got him as hot and bothered as when Dean sucked hickeys onto the inside of his thighs.  He knew that once the restaurant opened it would be weeks if not months before everything calmed down enough for them to have any sort of free time.  He suspected that wouldn't completely obliterate their sex life, but they should enjoy it now while they could still be adventurous about it.  Dean's hands strayed to Cas' belt and the man curled his fingers in Dean's hair, letting out curses and benedictions with the same breath.

"Hey, whoa, hey!"

Dean pulled back, but didn't step out of the inviting heat of Cas' thighs.  He turned to face his brother who had one hand over his eyes and the other holding Tracy's hand.

"It's okay.  They stopped kissing," she said.

Sam dropped his hand, but then whined as he looked away.  "They're still—entangled!"

"It's their restaurant, mi amor."

"No.  No, no, no.  And Cas!  I'm surprised at you!  The health inspector comes on Tuesday!"

"I know," he sighed.  "Your brother is incorrigible."

"Yeah, that's one way of putting it.  Okay, we're going down to the Spaghetti Factory for dinner.  Should I put four names on the list or should we just not plan to see you two until tomorrow?"

"No, we're coming," Cas said.

"We are?" Dean asked.

"Yes.  I'm hungry and there's no food here yet."

Dean made a face and backed up, but Cas drew him close again.

"We'll meet you there," Cas said.

"Gross," Sam said and turned on his heel.  Tracy laughed and went with him.

"You know, this might be the first job I ever have where I don't get sexually harassed by boss."

"I wouldn't count it," Sam said, and then they were out the door.

Dean chuckled and then faced Cas.  Cas' expression was not amused.

"Do not sexually harass Tracy or any of our staff."

Dean's jaw dropped.  "What?  Me?  I would never—okay, I would, but I won't.  Besides.  I'm honestly not even interested."  Dean ran his fingers through Cas' hair and over the shell of his ear.  "There will never be anyone but you.  I really hope I die first."

"Romantic."

"I thought so."

Cas leaned forward and kissed Dean deeply, passionately, possessively.  He pulled back and grinned at Dean’s slightly dazed expression.

"I'm ready for this," Cas said.  "Come what may."

Dean smiled.

"Except for all the critics that are going to blast that stupid section name on the menu."

"Ugh, let it go!" Dean said, backing up and pulling Cas off the counter.

"I'll let it go when we open the next restaurant and all the menu titles will be in Latin.  Or Greek."

"Oh, come on, you turned this place into a **table cloth** kind of place.  I think you could let me have **one** thing."

Dean held the door open as Cas flicked off the lights.  He pointed a finger as he approached Dean.

"One thing?  You got to name the damn place."

"It's a brilliant name."

"It's weird."

"Trust me, it's perfect.  People will be talking about The Bunker as one of their favorite places in the whole fricken' world."

"Mm-hmm."

"Mm-hmm," Dean mimicked.  He pulled Cas close and leaned down for a kiss, and then he pulled back and grinned at his business and life partner.  "Trust me, baby.  I'm America's Next Top Chef."

 

 


End file.
